The Setting Sun said too many evenings,
Adored by some, loathed by some, it shines still.
It is an established beauty of the stage called the sky,
Radios mutter the Sun as it rises on the day of my bed.
Houses feel together that go towards an enemy,
Hearts and heat are the stars, this Setting Sun is ours.
It is an established beauty of the sky, full of heat,
And inside there is a core, problems so real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem