Written Young-Lang, Kim
'Til the peonies are blooming,
I'll await my spring.
Tap, tap, the day when the peonies are shedding
Then, I'll sink down the sorrow with losing the spring
On May, a certain day, the day when it's a sultry day,
Even the fallen and lain petals whiter away.
In the world, without the trace, the peonies were vanished,
On regretfully, my fruitfulness that is stretching was been clashed.
If peony blooms fallen, only that's all,
All of my year was gone away,
In my regrets, three hundred and sixty days I'm weeping alway.
'Til the peonies are blooming,
Yet, I'll await my spring,
Which is the radiant mournful spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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