Living with my father in Hong Kong, I was still a kid.
When he used a big stick to punish me, I hid.
Since the death of my mother, he harboured great sadness.
Dealing with an ignorant child who cried, he was helpless.
He always sat alone at night and sighed about the past.
He drowned his sorrows in liquor as his future could not be forecast.
I consoled him by showing filial obedience.
Never could I pay my debt of gratitude in his presence.
Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems
http: //poem.bestfd.com/bbs/forum.php? mod=viewthread&tid=12101&extra=page%3D1
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem