In the wake of the 6th day of the 9th moon,
The hen barks and dog crows,
Sun in the night and moon in the day,
All for a new season melted with pleasantries,
For a king is born.
With a loafe heart i beckon my soul,
I tipped and leaned to view a spike of summer grass.
From this soil, this air,
Made the tip of my blood and language of my tongue.
Just as blood relation bequeaths children,
So my parents from the equivalent bequeathed me.
Age on the roadway race,
Hoping to end not till death.
And with the scene of the full-moon trill,
Hence, my song will sing again
TEE-THOMAS (Fearless Lines)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem