Kyerang Byun
The wind is swift, and the snow on the branches flutter like cotton.
On the mountain became clear, high leaves connect to whiten.
Don't think it strange that among many things, there's no poetry,
Until now, for true excitement is gotten across not easily.
(Jan.,14th,2024, Kinsley Lee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem