Check out the green hair falling on the Han.

The brisk river wind let the willows whisper among them,

The brisk winter wind could bring the migratory birds to

fly back here.

Keeping on the way they're squeaking,

Is drowning out the calm,

But the fish would be of interest to searching foods.

The lonely country, what it carries,

Makes the world of migratory birds.

A dark green chestnut on that chart of the Han, There is.

A mulberry field 2.8 kms long,

Several kms of sandy shore,

And the boatmen,

I miss to find, the whole shebang.

The hit rock hill, the feature, I can't bring up, too.

The lights on the Seogang bridge, looking beat all the

night,

The special living free from worldly cares,