Woman, how long can you disapprove
of your son’s wife, the usurper
of your son’s love? Without a like for her,
how can you tend your grandchild,
who has half of her blood? Mind!
Mend the way; harmony is found.
Else, your end days will be hounds.
27.12.2000, Pmdi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem