A-s the Friday fog fades,
B-eacon Saturday has come;
I-t's morn March twenty-fifth,
G-ale has just turned calm.
A-nother strong storm turns
I-nto a day's fine weather;
L-et the coal clouds turn white, while you feel much better.
R-ise of the sun begins
A-fter the long cold dark night;
G-et up from your slumber,
O-ne light is in
S-ight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem