December

Birch Forest swings, galloping
wildly in the wind, December
first morning
pale rises to the hem of the night.
Where are the elves, and gnomes?
Inside dancing rhymes dowry,
and crept into my mind stubborn creatures.
Quickly run up to me in the wind,
bring me a man,
which is in the midst of the darkness
part of a woman to love.
Item arrives in the heart of winter,
Christmas toward people wander.
Now is the first morning of December,
I'm not speechless, I'm not even a ghost.