Ah, Mom/Shu Ting
Your pale fingertips touch my temple.
I can't help acting like a child.
Hold on to your skirt
Ah, mom.
In order to keep your fading figure
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke.
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf.
Afraid that cleaning will make it
Lose your unique warmth
Ah, mom.
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid the memory will fade, too.
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a Jing Guan, and I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mom.
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even if the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep?
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs.
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Ah, mom.
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not a torrent, not a waterfall.
It's a dry well, and it can't sing under the shade of flowers and trees.
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