In the sunset of my life
when I look back with anxiety
I find only countless strife
that I gladly did as my duties.
I baked myself with the bread,
I starved to pink their cheeks,
I reared them though I bled,
I churned myself with the milk.
But now my hands are entirely empty
as they are too busy in their own duties.
Though I'm left alone in abject pity
I pray God for their happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem