Yesterday, I stumbled upon an interesting writing from Adolf Hitler when I was reading things about his past. He wrote this poem as a dedication to his beloved mother, Klara Hitler. So here I just make direct translation for the poem that he wrote: -
When your mother has grown older,
Her dear faithful eyes no longer see life as they once did;
When her feet grown tired,
It no longer want to carry her as she walks.
Lend her your arm in support,
Escort her with happy pleasure;
The hour will come for weeping,
You must accompany her on her final walk.
If she asks you something,
Then give her an answer;
If she asks again and again, respond to her,
Not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
If she cannot understand you properly,
Explain all to her happily,
The hour will come, the bitter hour,
When her mouth asks for nothing more.
