In the early morn, birds chirp and chirrup on bare branches bright,
The air is refleshing, the smog of fine dust vanished from sight.
I can't find the dyed flowers 'cause, not having go out for quite some time,
Suddenly, yellow buds burst, calling spring, sublime.
(Mar.2024. Kinsley Lee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem