Prevod

Long ago, a woodcutter had his axe confiscated by a mountain warden. Miserable and heartsick, he sat with his chin propped on his hand. Seeing him, the warden said, “Say something fitting, and I shall give it back.” The woodcutter composed this poem: “In this cruel world, where I have not even a bad one, you take my good axe—what am I to do?” The warden tried to compose a poem in reply, but though he groaned, “Uh, uh, uh, uh,” he could think of nothing. So he returned the axe, much to the woodcutter’s delight. It would seem, then, that one should make every effort to master the art of poetry.