The Glory Of Thingyan Poem by John Florio

Being far away from our homes,
Count the days for this festival;
And every year, in April, it comes,
Then we all get a short interval.

We forget all our pains and worries,
When we get to hearts of parents;
We've to bear the separate agonies,
As we lead our lives of servants.

Received their blessings and love,
Found Heaven in their hearts;
Without their love in Heaven above,
Everywhere we feel as deserts.