The poetess says this while saying how pleasurable it is to have a daughter at home. My daughter is as good as a red ruby gem. My daughter is indeed an ever-glimmering green tattoo. She is like the foliage blooming on a tree. Like sweet-smelling sandalwood, which being rubbed spreads fragrance, my daughter wears away her bones in serving the home.
 
When my daughter pervades my mind, all my worry withers away. When she is moving into the house, her presence illuminates every nook and cranny of the house like the gentle wick of an oil lamp.
 
When my daughter is not at home, my mind longs for her. The time stops as if frozen, and my mind becomes gloomy (as it becomes difficult to pass time in any way in her separation).
 
My mind rejoices to see my daughter playing, laughing, and prattling all around the house like the chirping of a sparrow. But when I scold her even a little, she lets out a huff.
 
I don’t care, even if everyone else is dissatisfied with me. But I feel that my daughter, who is like a tender petal, should never be upset with me.
 
Only my daughter understands the words of nature. Just as morning dawns with hope and promise, after a night filled with darkness, likewise, my daughter illuminates and enlivens my life.