In Northern custom, a son may have a father,
His name is Wind.
The son goes like his father,
Sparks in a movement
Extinguishes in famous momentum.
But if the father has a daughter?
She would have dreams like her brother,
Which they allowed in the custom.
Waits for blossom,
But rarely opens, and goes like Windy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem