The sheep are soundless in the snow,
Sleepless for the night as it stoops;
Aggression has appeared for the lairs,
As I have risen for the keeping of foxes.
Exhaling now and then, we are gray in the mind,
Life is dazzling with a vortex of guidance;
Anger has stunned us for the hope is near
For the foxes to retreat and rout, the auction is so near.
It is agitated, and been clear at hand
That foxes number the dozens in sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem