A seed of faith I planted with trust
Promised to grow like how Mother wanted and just
As the reflections of the past must be recognized,
And the fruits of seedlings shall be embraced and not idealized.

I believe a little hope shall never be wasted,
By the burning and loving soul, I am guided
So those who conform are the very worst
From the petrichor of a traitor who's cursed.

The power of knowing we are privileged
Even foliaceous dialects are bound by one language
I am honored and proud, as opposed to loathing
Let us re-unveil the warmest smile to the Land of the Morning.

On this ground, a sprouting mind threatens hundreds of men
’Til the leaves have fallen, our blood will still be golden.