There is room for you.
You are alone with your few sheaves of rice.
My boat is crowded, it is heavily laden, but how can I turn youaway?
Your young body is slim and swaying; there is a twinklingsmile in the edge of your eyes, and your robe is coloured like therain cloud. The travellers will land for different roads and homes.
Youwill sit for a while on the prow of my boat, and at the journey'send none will keep you back. Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves?
Iwill not question you, but when I fold my sails and moor my boatI shall sit and wonder in the evening, -Where do you go, and towhat home, to garner your sheaves?
