You were a pearl
In the palm of my hand,
My tiny baby boy.

Why is it that I,
A white-haire man of three-score years,
Am left behind,
And you, a child of three,
Must by Heaven's silent, stern decree,
Precede me
To that strange and far-off land
Of death?

My heart is wounded sorely,
But not with a blade of steel;
My old eyes are dimmed and dull,
But not with the dust of earth.

These arms
That held you closely to my breast
Are empty now,
And I mourn, as did Teng Yu of old,
My only son.