Mog-Wol, Park
The mountain peak in out-of-the-way
Where the pine pollens are flying
The extra(leap) April's sun is late to home on his way.
When the nightingale are howling.
In the woodman's isolated cottage,
A blinded lassie,
To the door post, with listening attentively,
Eavesdrops the outside scenery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem