Into her hand out of reach.
Esteemed, fine grapes university
Made from a puff of smoke.
A matter beneath the ground,
and the wind when it sings
is of poetry and beyond
don't stop what you are doing.
If it fell beneath your hand,
my sword is still in reach.
I teach the mind of snow
sanhartlee, which she knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem