My collars are straight from the money,
Letters of calligraphy curtail the events;
As we swear to serve the leaders of the nation,
Tight fittings remind us of sin.
My nation has a dear quality of taste,
Letters of this language shall fit inside,
Taste then the old erosions of this day
And night, as unfolding occurs.
My memories are seen to be eventful,
Internal memories shine rightfully,
Causing upheavals in the snow of the winds,
A watery storm has caused our lines to diverge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem