Chong-Suh, Kim
The north wind blows at the end of the tree branches,
The bright moon chills in the snow on the brae.
I stand up with a long sword
At the border fortress which is thousands miles away
A long whistle,
And by a loud shout,
There are no obstacles in front of my way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem