Dear father,
At this post
I' ve become a proud artilleryman of the 600mm super-large multiple rocket launchers you made
My heart throbs with the song of artillerymen
as if the weapons were ready to blow off
The weapons are like your New Year greetings to me.
I'm really proud of them
As they are Juche weapons
That stood in rows in the yard of Party Central Committee
For the first time in history after the founding of the Party
And as they are powerful weapons
That further amplified
The historic significance of our Party plenary meeting.
I really feel invigorated
As I stand at the best Juche weapons
That encourage our people
And horrify the enemy.
They really look dignified
Stroking them,
I feel your warm breathing
And I feel your personality.
I can picture you working indomitably day and night
To increase the production of the weapons
Out of your pledge of loyalty
And out of a sense of patriotism.
Our Marshal
The workers in the munitions industry
As true revolutionaries
And as patriots, the best heroes.
As the son of the patriot, of the hero,
I feel like I've become a matchless giant
As a soldier, I hold the iron hammer
That has all our enemies
Within its striking range.
As your son just like you,
I will not write a letter in paper
But reply as befits a soldier, an artilleryman
When multiple rocket launchers thunder to destroy the enemies,
Demonstrating the invincible military power,
It will be the news of this son to you.
When the roars of the launchers' engines resound,
They sound like your voice, the request of the workers, to me,
Calling for destroying all the aggressors
And for mercilessly punishing the enemies.
If the ridiculous enemies move even a bit,
We will annihilate them at a stroke
And present a report of victory to Marshal
Iron-willed brilliant commander.
Father,
I want you to present another matchless mighty Juche weapons
To our Party Central Committee
Once again.
To you fathers, workers in the munitions industry,
Who gave the first pleasure to the Marshal with the presents,
I extend warm congratulations,
Greetings of son, salute of a-match-for-a-hundred artillerymen.
