C-oal clouds don't gather,
E-arly sun is burning bright;
C-old chill has disappeared,
E-vening dark turns into
L-ight.
G-leams fourteenth January
A-re glowing in the sky;
R-ays from the beacon create
C-olors in the lane up high.
I-t's a beautiful Saturday, Sunday shadows perish;
A-s you wake from sleep, receive my one birthday wish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem