Chisel keeps craking on rock which sounds a song,
Days, months, years, and decades gone,
A sweaty man works on,
Up cloud a ghat forms.
Like a ladder hung over the escarpment,
Up six thousand steps Paradise would be sawn.
From hence my luve can leave and get home,
Freely, happily, safely even after storms.
Oh, my dear dear luve,
No longer worry when thee go alone.
Cause i have wiped all lichen off stones.
My luve, always the bonnie bride in sedan that got through,
Gracely, smilingly, bumping along village's brook.
A glance makes me stuck and still stood.
Her phraseless fingers never forget as I could,
Keeping me enchanted while half century flew.
Oh, My dear, your hand that holds mine is so strong,
We stroll the path that goes up on and on,
So high, so long and extend to the Heaven.
In case than me you foregone,
Must waiting for me at gate of Heaven while singing the daily song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem