I don't usually write short poems, but this was an occasion that couldn't be described with more words, everything that was said was said truthfully and from the bottom of the mind, anything else would only ruin it.
I wrote this poem to Slovak but I will try to translate it in two more languages. I'm not quite certain I translated the meaning so well but feel free to comment and explain how you viewed it.
Odišiel prvorodený syn
Mama zahubila šálku
Plakal som, lebo
neviem pliesť veniec
Odlazi prvorođeni sin
Mama je razbila šoljicu
Plakao sam, jer
ne znam plesti venac
a Firstborn son is leaving
mom broke a cup
I cried, because
I don't weave wreaths