L-et thirtieth December
A-im to meet the Friday;
N-ew dawn has broken,
T-aking the twilight away.
O-pen your birth with mirth, it's a beautiful morn;
T-hursday night passes by, along with the shadow's scorn.
N-o more mist and haze,
A-ll you see is freshness;
T-he rays from the beacon
A-re eliminating the mess.
L-ight above the horizon
I-s rising toward the sky;
A-s you gaze at the lane, just smile and never cry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem