It shall be whispered by the morning breeze.
I am he that is what I deem to say.
The deity on whom the pen has found ease.
Same has asked none but fate his works to pay.
I hear the goddess of the north sing it.
By the terraces of the third heavens.
As a man plots his sleek romance gambit.
While the maidens' hips glide by the ovens.
It is I, it is I. Ray the wordsman.
That declared to you you'll be a fine bride.
That you'll be this slim and fit a lifespan.
Kissed you goodnight aft you had made the bed.
It's roared by this ocean by which we lay.
The heartbeat next to you...lo, I am Ray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem