M-ake your birthday nice,
A-s you wake from slumber;
R-ainy night has turned
I-nto a morn's fine weather.
C-old chill has vanished,
R-ugged wind is also over;
I-nclement clime turns good,
S-unday eighteenth December.
P-ain, tears, and sorrow
A-re far from your eyes;
C-omfort is truly brought,
O-ne birthday is ever
N-ice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem