She goes uphill where herbs appear;

Downhill, she meets her former husband dear.

She kneels and asks him, "How do you...

How do you find your young wife new?"

"Though my new wife is no less fair,

My old wife is beyond compare.

In looks by your side she may stand,

But she's less clever with her hand.

Since she came in through the front door,

At home I can find you no more.

She's good at embroidering skein,

While you are good at sewing plain.

She weaves one foot of silk a day;

You weave five feet without delay.

Her work compared with yours, all told,

The new is not up to the old."

This is a poem for a beautiful and laborious wife who was abandoned by her husband with no reason.