I was walking alone on the road across the fields while the setting sun hid its last gold like a miser. The day plunged deeper into the darkness, and the lonely field that had been reaped lay there silently. Suddenly a boy's shrill singing voice rose from the sky.He passed through the invisible darkness, leaving the rut of his song across the silence of the evening. His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the coconut and the dark green jack-fruit trees. I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the blackened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds and mothers' hearts and hearts. The lights at night, and the young lives, they are full of joy, but they don't know the value of such joy to the world.

As long as the child is willing, he can fly to the sky at this moment. It is not for nothing that he does not leave us. He loved to rest his head on his mother's breast, and he couldn't bear to lose sight of her even for a moment. Baby knows all manner of wise words, though few on earth understand their meaning. It was not for nothing that he never wanted to speak. All he has to do is learn the words from mother's lips.That was why he seemed so innocent. The child had a heap of gold and pearls, but he came like a beggar into this world. It is not for nothing that he came here in such a pretense.

This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly helpless,so that he beg for mother's wealth of love. In the world of the tiny crescent moon, the child is free from all restraints. It was not for nothing that he gave up his freedom. He knew there was room for endless joy in mother's little corner of a heart, and it was sweeter far than liberty to be caught and caught in her dear arms. A child never knows how to cry.He lives in a perfect paradise. It was not for nothing that he shed tears. Though with the smile on his dear face be draws mother's yearning heart to him,yet his little cries over tiny troubles weave the double bond of pity and love

Ah, who dyed that little frock, my child, who clothed your tender limbs in that little red frock? You ran out to play in the courtyard in the morning, you, running as if you were on the verge of falling. But who dyed that little frock, my boy? What made you laugh, my little bud? Mom stands by the door, looking at you with a smile. She claps her hands, her bracelets jingle, and you dance with your bamboo pole in your hand, like a little shepherd boy. But what made you laugh, my little bud? O beggar, what are you begging for, with your hands clinging to your mother's neck? O insatiable heart, shall I pluck the whole world from heaven like a fruit, and lay it in thy little rose-coloured palms?

O beggar, what are you begging for? The wind happily carries away the jingle of your ankle bells. The sun smiles and looks at your dress. The sky looks on at you when you sleep in your mother's arms, and the morning creeps softly to your bed and kisses your eyes. The wind happily carries away the jingle of your ankle bells. The dream woman in the fairy land flies towards you through the hazy sky. In your mother's heart, the mother of the world, is sitting with you. He who plays music to the stars is standing at your window with his fife. The dream woman in the fairy land flies towards you through the hazy sky.