In Dolos' suburbs,
In a tiny weaving workshop.

The silk-weaving old woman busies herself within,
As her smart child wanders outside on a whim.

The silk pours from the loom,
Some bright as the dawn, some dark as the night.

The woman had lived her whole life in poverty,
Yet through her business, she never deceives.

“Good child, listen to me…
Never lie and speak deceit, people like you only due to honesty.”

The girl smiles and nods,
But her heart is drawn to the boundless desires of the bustling streets.

And the grandmother is unaware,
That her hand-made white dress has been stained by the mud of conceit.