A shack in the village, not a house.
A poorer place, it seems, there is none.
Pretty girls all around,
But it was here that She was born.

Here she lived, accepting her lot,
Friendly among people, she honored her parents.
Beloved, when I especially longed for you,
I would secretly pass by your windows.

They called me a lost soul.
Regardless of the villagers,
I saw the humbled as the finest,
With the scent of lilac and the beauty of roses.