My mother, she cooks, she works for us,
And my my I certainly cannot explain her looks.
She looks like a daffodil from a field,
But more than ever she is skilled.
As I loudly cut carrots from the packet,
My mother can do it without making any racket.
O mother! O dearest mother!
From the day I was born
To the day I was torn,
You stitched up my heart with your love,
So you deserve the name “the greatest lover”,
O dearest mother.