Is there any Spring for Mom, my dear?

 The sad past and memory would never clear:


 Fleeing from the enemy that Black April's night, 

 Mom guided her poor children in a sorry plight

 Crossing the ocean in a small fragile boat.

 Alas! while at sea the pirates atrociously smote;

 She committed suicide proud of being a Viet lady.

 Such misfortune, now how could you  see,  baby?


 For thirty years, Vietnamese have endured pain;

 Thirty years already, they have suffered in bane

 Living scattered every where on this earth.


 This Spring, kindly take from me of my life's worth

 A rose to the Mom of Boat People that old time.

 In all sincerity we pray day and night in chime

 For Mom's Soul to be at leisure in Ultimate Bliss.



Translation by  THANH-THANH