The sun, the sun
And it's golden rays.
The moon, the moon
At the end of days.
Vast and bright,
The sun is so,
While the moon is alone
And white as snow.
Center of life,
Basking in joys,
The moon is jealous,
At what the sun enjoys.
The sun, the sun
it does not see,
The moon, the moon,
And its ache of envy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem