Woman, you must rise at dawn and light up
your oil lamp, for here comes the chronicler,
who must not meet you and your babe in weak light.

He comes with his big book, where the lines and verse
of the dead and the living carry with them
the lengths of vicissitudes.

He comes with the anointing oil, his quill feather pen
and the noble ink, and on his head flutters the
hamlet's white banner.

Surely, he must have heard the cry of your babe
born before cockcrow; therefore, hide it not in cloths
and hurry, for he must leave for where we hear a threnody.