Love song "Rope"

Gray eyes and a smart fellow,
He sat on a bench.
The man wove a rope,
Thus he sang a loud song:
"Weave, weave, and don't unwind,
But you are my rope.
And for whom you will be useful,
My one fate I do not know.
Maybe you will be useful
Later in fall to the merchant.
Or early in spring,
As fellows tie you to the sails.
That man did not happen
to sell that rope.
That young woman did not happen
to kiss scarlet lips.
She became aquainted with an old man,
And was wed to him.
And on this, on this rope,
The fine fellow ended life.

(Laman, A.V., 90 years old, Boutsichy village)