It's been a long time since I left the village
And I have met a neighbor, nice, polite,
Who tells me the bird cherry is in blossom
And that your hair, O, mother, has turned white.
Another guy says you were ill and suffering,
How can I trust the news, which they have slung,
When from your letters I can see for certain
That day by day, O, mother, you grow young.
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