Mom is still laborious in her native land to stay;
The Mother's Day is therefore a merely trivial day.
She usually gropingly wakes up early at dawn
To look after the front gate, take care of the rear lawn.
For breakfast she munches slowly a quid of betel.
She tends each pumpkin bud, each squash petal.
Her sons and daughters are busy working in the field,
So absorbed, nonchalant, unaware of it to wield.
Whoever to respect, love, honor her on this day;
Flowers to offer, gratitude to express, wishes to say?
Oh mom, that is the nice tradition of people overseas;
Mother's value, Father's merit, Teacher's deed to please.
Back there in your village white clouds fly, profuse,
Folk-songs though aplenty gone with the wind, diffuse.
Away from home, silently in exile, wandering in dole,
I always miss and think of you, pray for your whole,
And for Mother Vietnam, for an eternal good increase,
Our beloved motherland, bright, blooming in peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely tribute to a mother for whom the Mother's Day is just another Day with same routine. It is for her sons and daughters to open up their hearts to express their gratitude for all she has done to bring them up. Thanks.