Surely she does not lack beauty
Nor skills in sewing and weaving.
But she grew up in a poor family
So good matchmakers ignore her.

She never looks cold or hungry,
All day long she weaves by her window.
Only her parents feel sorry for her;
Neighbors would never know of it.

A pair of golden scissors in her hand,
Fingers stiffened by the night’s chill.
She cuts a bridal costume for another,
Yet year after year she sleeps alone.