My words, which were in the pain of foreign country, cracked his shell. Today I sprinkled roses on the smell of homeland that I had memorized in my dreams. The exclusive arms of its high-headed streets were open at length. He embraced my heart with his warm heart.
On its walls lined with flower, hope on its lips. I lowered a pair of eyes to its pavements, and then reunite with the footprints.
While I was walking around his air, my love songs accompanied my lungs.
My nose entered the barbecue cauldron every step of the way.
The happiness of those who dipped their cauldron bagels in turnip juice was beyond reproach.
Conversations were flying with wings, the canon air had already migrated.
The weather was not hot, the slopes of the heart were warm. The eyes sparkled. How well the casserole matched the jingles of tea.
Ah, the mountain of my country, my land that smells of love. While the waves of the sea tickle my veins, I grow the language of my feelings in the bosom of the mountains.
If I love the sea,
My soul runs to the mountains and plains barefoot.
My body sits cross-legged in the shadow of the pines, in the sound of silence, until I'm out of breath.
Blood-red cherries are smiling, I'm sour in plums if you don't appreciate them.
Now, where should I shed my tears in the arms of the away? To whom should I sing the songs that fly inside me?
Which cover should I lay for the love of the country?
Oh, my mountains, my tribes, that sear my heart.
My past that I reached the friendship tables.
The days when I spied on the old and poor people of my neighborhood,
Now that I have become the poor of his heart, I still remember him with love. I am sending lots of love for my country to my beautiful city.