Classic Poem

Long hoe, long hoe, handle of white wood,
I trust my life to you — you must save me now!
No shoots of wild taro where mountain snows drift high;
robe so short, pull as I may it will not hide my shins
And so with you I go empty-handed home;
the boy grumbles, the girls whine, my four walls are still.
Ah-ah, song the second, the song at last breaks free;
village lanes for my sake put on the face of pity.