A daughter’s like a flow’r that’s sometimes plucked,
From the plant- the family, suddenly;
And parents feel their sap/ blood has been sucked,
Off from their veins in a manner truly.
The son is like a flow’r that stays for long;
Adorning well the family-plant till late;
A part of his parents’ old-aged sad song;
Who’s expected to suff’rings mitigate.
Son or daughter in a small family-norm!
The parents feel the losses both are great;
Their separations come in life like storm!
But none can ever circumvent this fate.
So, who looks after parents in old age?
’Tis anyone who truly- my message!
6-17-2002 by Dr John Celes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem