I do not blame the sun for rising
From the wrong side,
Nor the beet for bearing fruit
At the wrong time of year.

The right to live as an inheritance
I did not give myself
And I did not establish
The order,
But I chose
Which cheek I turned
And when I weeded the weeds.

I will turn to the luminary with the needed side,
I will work the field in summer,
Let it rest with winter.
I will listen to a wise woman,
Become so brave
That I submit to circumstances,
As to just superiors.
And it will be well with me.