Who knew that when I was sick,
you would be the one who suffered?
Lying in bed, suddenly I was startled from my pillow,
Leaning on the others, I wept in front of your lamp.
It turns out to be hard to have a daughter--
I have no son, how can I avoid grief?
The sickness came, took only ten days,
even though we'd raised you for three years.
Miserable tears, crying voices, everything hurt painfully.
Your old clothes lonely on the hanger, the medicine at your bedside.
I sent you through the deep village lanes,
I saw the tiny grave in the field.
Don't tell me it's three li away--
this separation is till the end of days.
--Bai Juyi 白居易 (772-846)