Sure I love the dear silver that shines in your hair, and the brow that's all furrowed, and wrinkled with care. I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me, oh, god bless you and keep you, mother machree.
My dear child, if you desire to be free from the cycle of birth and death, then abandon the objects of sense gratification as poison. Drink instead the nectar of forbearance, upright conduct, mercy, cleanliness and truth.
