Engrave the memories for little girls,
When they grow up to be women,
And memoirs of those little lads,
Who shot up to be grown-up men.
Raindrops pelted the little heads,
Despite the colourful umbrellas,
And grave scoldings forever bear,
The serious yet loving memories of Mother.
Upset when we were angry,
In all our indignant and childish rage,
Blushing and hitting out with curled-up fists,
With a determined resolve for revenge.
And while we grew up, we never saw,
What awaited in our future lives,
Because between the years, I could see,
What a great difference there was going to be.