Our forefathers and mothers put the bread they earned with their skin on their widow's table as a blessing, a state, a valuable gift. Because holy bread is a miracle. Mothers and grandmothers with their tongues gave bread to their child on a long journey, and said, "My child will be my companion." In our homeland, the soil of every harvest is golden, our threshing floor is full of wheat, and today the Turkmen man respectfully invites his friend and relative to the table with sweet bread. Our precious bread, the precious treasure of human life, is the bright lamp of our future. May every Turkmen family have plenty of bread for the day. Under the shadow of our dear Sardar, may the blessings of our table become even more national, and may Turkmen bread be the spring of our happiness!
