To the light we say our pleasant news of the evening
Then dawn appears to the seeing eye like the twitching ear
Resetting the clock, resettling the time,
Forward march!
The march is on, and we are one, like blizzards we are,
Like storms and triumphant kind that beleaguers the futile men
And swears to God that times have changed,
Fulfilling the drives and appeals like players and gunmen.
This pleasing apparatus is bedridden,
My dawn is my dawn like a flower
Burgeoning due to its gift from God,
The strongest helper of the weak, weak emotional men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem