early morning crimson on east
watching every move, every step
from gotemba trail up the climb
my stick, backpack on my behind
cold breeze words i could find
loose soil & rocks tumbling down
for every station we stop for stamp
on our stick for a few yen & drinks
there are snow with the wind burst
my arms and my face feels hurt
i put towel to cover not enough
we keep going until came dark
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I would like to translate this poem