I know a willow standing in the forest,
It never heard water rushing,
Never heard a child crying, never a rooster crowing,
It would repay the labour of listening.
When already its sap in trunk and branch
Rises and wells up to ripeness,
Then one chops lustily and peels the bark
From the splinter to make a pipe.

For from the willow at the right time
A branch cut to be a flute
Is a precious secret
And good in many a situation.
If someone blows upon such a reed
With a loud, merry sound,
Then people and animals immediately perk up their ears
And follow and enter the trap.

With cunning, upon my shawm I entice
To leaping, fidgeting dances,
Those with braids appear forthwith
And those with long tails.
They must come out, they must come forth
From their hiding places and houses,
The women, the maidens, the children in swarms,
All rats and all mice.