[This is a wonderful poem written by Hitler about his Mother. And he knew what he was talking about. He came back home and looked after his mother for the final days of her life. He did all the housework himself as a young man. His mother died and he had to bury her. He knew pain. He knew the reality of life. He knew the importance of his mother. Treasure your Mother and your Father. Jan]
When your mother has grown older,
When her dear, faithful eyes
no longer see life as they once did,
When her feet, grown tired,
no longer want to carry her as she walks
Then lend her your arm in support,
Escort her with happy pleasure.
The hour will come when, weeping,
You must accompany her on her final walk.
And if she asks you something,
Then give her an answer.
And if she asks again, then speak!
And if she asks yet again, respond to her,
Not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
And 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.
- Adolf Hitler, 1923