In my breakfast wrapped in the sadness that Dad left,
When I realized that he had left behind the bow that had come to Mom;
Sixteen kinds are understood as pure love,
His choice in wrestling in the game!
There is a sense of darkness that the sweetness of the heart's heart is sweet,
It is his purpose to provide the youngest in education;
These are intangible acts of the flesh that are unbearable but fertile
Of eight throb life and eight thoughts.
The longer it takes, the heavier it becomes
My dear Mother has a firm breast in suffering and intolerance;
And her offspring who are less conscious are to be imagined
He helped with diligence and was determined to stop it!
He had a skin in his chest ready to be sick and ready to endure,
He has an answer and is always ready to solve problems;
His blessed hand-grabbing pain and healing,
Loving breasts will be filled with resentment.
All he wanted was his tearful companion
And in the room of his heart he made room, all cut;
There is also a wound that has no remedy for scratches,
He is still a lover of all time.
Today is my mother's birthday. .. fifty-nine,
He had a crown from our Lord on him;
In past times of sacrifice and success
She is a monument to her greatness that no one can match!
She is the woman I will admire all the time,
Now I think it's my only right to defend him;
Expect her - this heartfelt gratitude,
The blanket of comfort would cover him with all the joy!
To him I offer the kiss of love and the kisses
And prayers may be given to the blood that flows
The rest of the living at the root of the heart is bitter
Even the slightest glimmer of joy in her could be missed!