With warmth of her gentle hands, 

I received bunches of relief. 

Let alone while she’s dancing, 

With her sugar coated lips. 

The child is fruit of life

If the egg is not get broken 

It will become a cock 

The child is father of his father 

If he doesn’t catch by evil feather 

Oh! What a sweet company? 

On the shadow of an angel mother 

Her lap is solace, 

Her back is abode of joy 

Why will I forget childhood old

Or the warm air I have received in cold weather. 

-Pundit pen