Good morning,
says the dim light.
Look at outside,
All are bright.
A cup of tea
comes to my bed.
In the very morning,
Never a little late.
Kiss her lips
In fine morrow,
Taste her flavors
Forgetting my sorrow.
Kiss her again,
For her taste,
Pains and anxieties,
All are rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem