V-ile weather on Monday
H-as turned into a fine clime;
A-nother birth is remembered,
N-ew dawn is so sublime.
J-ust let Sunday shadow pass,
I-n twenty-sixth December;
E-arly morn has broken,
L-etting you rise up from slumber.
G-ray clouds above turn white,
A-s the raindrops disappear;
T-he red beacon in the sky
C-omforts you with cheer.
H-aze, mist, and thick fog
A-re nowhere to be found;
L-ight from the crimson sun
I-s turning things around.
A-llow the breeze to bring a soft and gentle wind;
N-ever let it become violent, nor let the warm rays end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem