Дэлгэрэнгүй
Дэлгэрэнгүй уншаарай
Whose stilt house is making smoke in the misty morning dew Bamboos’ sweet scent in the sparse forest A few pairs of young birds chirp, exchanging dreams of affection In the breeze drifting from afar, faintly wavering, yet brimming with love. The wind is whistling, whistling Distant brook softly murmuring… like a lullaby A dry leaf drifts aimlessly downstream – drifting on, where it is bound? Dawn weaves through mountain gorges Myriad trees expectantly greet the essence of a rosy Sun that brightens the eastern sky. Plants rise and call out Myriad trees expectantly greet the rich fragrance Of the radiant Sun blazing forth in the eastern sky. […]
My dear, it’s not much time Sixty years of life. First twenty years Not much time for happiness. Next twenty years Sadness is vast. Last twenty years is not much. Oh, that’s how it is One’s life won’t last long. Oh, not very long That’s how short life is. Oh, we have not many Years of life to love one another. […]
