On the fizzling cliffs of the North,
On the pacific lea of the South,
Silence grins and sighs and rustles and murmurs.
Land of the West was touched
years ago with balls of light:
With crimson and red and orange and tan.
The land in the East is not yet touched.
It is shadowy, dark and dismal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem