The hills I climb are to steep for traitors
for the tip touches the heavens
Jesus has the grace to hold my hand
as I glide across this foreign land
A sweet lady by the name of Mary
welcomes me with open arms
as my feet leave the ground
with a sweet tiptoed sound
if all was for him to woe this world
then how comes the others swell
a gift from mother Russia
as i fall in love with you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem