O mother,
Tell me mother!
What should I do
In this widowed season?
Tell me
What should I do
In this season of loss?

The trees are leafless in this season,
Without fragrance.
The sun of my happiness has no warmth,
In this season.
But even more bitter
Is my youth that is widowed,
Tell me,
What should I do
With this bitter youth?

My pain has let its hair grow out
In this season
It has worn the milky white clothes of sorrow,
Kept the fast, not sung a song.
Tell me
Where can I drown myself,
In this season?
What should I do
In this widowed season?

O mother!
To whom can I attach myself in this season?
Who can I touch with these contaminated limbs?
At whose righteous door can I plant this sapling?
O woe!
What flowers can I shower upon it?
Mother,
Tell me mother
O mother,
Tell me mother!
What should I do
In this widowed season?
Tell me
What should I do
In this season of loss?