Lonely east slope a sick old man
White hair dull loose all frost wind
Son mistaken happy red face at
A smile that know is alcohol red
A lonely sick old man on eastern slope,
My frosty hair blows loosely in the wind.
My son, mistaken, is pleased by my ruddy face,
I smile: I know it's alcoholic red.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem