E-arly Friday morning, the sun begins to rise;
M-arch twenty-fourth comes, fog passes from eyes.
M-ist, haze, and mess
A-re nowhere to be found.
C-omfort of the beacon
A-ims to stay around.
Y-ellow rays remain all day,
A-fter the moon is gone;
N-ew light warms your heart, as brought by breaking dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem