My father
He was walking in the forest
Even on the day I was born
Hearing the refreshing sound of the woods
As if that sound was my birth cry
My father
He planted trees and took care of them
When I was idling my childhood
He carried on his back were saplings
Not me, his own son
To my father,
Green forest was like his own flesh
On the holiday, when he planted trees with me
He would stroke those trees
As he would pat me on my head
As those trees grew,
We grew up, striking our roots deep into the fatherland
Time flies like an arrow
I became the master of that forest,
And the trees, planted on my birthday,
Are now giant trees
But still my father is a volunteer-inspector of the forest
When kindergarten kids enjoy the wild fruit
Licking their cherry-red lips
When they cling to my father's sleeve
My father is so overjoyed
That he keeps patting their heads
To me
The green luster of the young trees,
Which are planted day by day,
Is the extension of my father's youth.
The sound of the green forest
Is the echo of my father's priceless life
Though the flow of years may bring wrinkles,
Newly born green forests of the hometown
Remains everlasting trace of the life
The true master of the green forest says with his heart
"Grow a golden mountain with all the juice of your life!
Then you will live forever in the memory of the descendants."
