Kam-Hong-Ro

It’s time that ginkgo leaves are dyeing

And Kam-Hong-Ro’re growing ripe

The perfume of the spirituous liquors are spreading,

And the winds blow the maple leaves to sipe.

 

In the field, the fallen leaves are rolling

And in the open bar, the people touch their glasses.

And the western sky is redly glowing,

And the crimson lights shine, over the glasses.

 

For a thousand years they’d distilled the liquors,

There’d been many songs along the rivers.

And there‘re various gins among the rivers

And hills, and there were many gin-makers

 

Luckily the traditional gin’s been reborn,

The people could not but cheer with the gin,

When walking in the autumn leaves in Morn

Lights, and felt the scent of the djinn.