B-eacon has begun to rise,
H-aze fades away underneath;
E-arly Wednesday morning,
V-iew of light comes from the
Zenith.
A-llow Tuesday night to fade,
P-assing by before the dawn;
O-n twenty-eighth December,
S-hadows are all gone.
T-ry not to often think
O-r be afraid of the nightmare;
L-et the bad dream disappear, hope for the heaven's care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem