O-n twenty-first January,
S-aturday greets the blue lane;
C-oal clouds have vanished,
A-s well as the cold
R-ain.
S-ent graces from above
U-se the river near the plateau;
L-et not the blessings run dry
I-n the fountain of water
T-oo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem