A willow has bent over the spring
underneath it a girl has detangled her hair
she is washing her face, making her hair
bitter tears she is sheding over the spring
You sad willow, my dear sister
who bent over above the spring
like me ,you're also out of luck
you've blossomd, but you've never given yield
It's a custom there where I was born
that a poor girl marries a rich man
for his meadows and fields
oh, my God why I should be guilty for this
He's an old man , his hands have withered
and his hair is white as snow
I'm not looking for his wealth
my heart wants caresses
I'll marry a young guy
my youth belongs to someone else's youth