She said, ‘Sincerity’s to strive hard, love,

Cleansed of existence then to rise above—

We’ve stored rain in this jug and now it’s full:

It’s your possession, means and capital,

So take this jug and journey to the king

To give it to him as an offering;

Tell him we’ve nothing more, he’ll understand

There’s nothing finer in our desert land;

His storehouses may have the finest fare

But they won’t have such water that’s so rare.’