L-et Saturday shine,
A-fter the long cold night;
Z-enith awaits the beacon,
A-iming to give pure delight.
R-ise of the sun begins because the twilight is gone;
O-n seventeenth December, the dusk turns into dawn.
L-et Friday night disappear,
U-nderneath the blue skyline;
C-rimson rays bring bright light
A-s they let Saturday
S-hine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem