Handprints on my glass

The heaven's torch shines - dazzled, A male farmyard fowl howled, The little damsels serve the ladder, Plenty of warblers herded, In the golden field of grain crops, Folks may never feel famished, Like a mirage in a desert, Where fairies can do magic, The honeysuckle is still sweet, Provider of fabulous flower, Makes home looks elegant, Makes the peasants inspired. Heaven's lamp is still up there, Angels descended from nowhere, Pouring the blessings of the season, Hours of delight knocks in our yard, Dreariness days merely forgot, Gladness quickly coming, Gongs hit with grace, Gives solemn harmony, Even the hermits rejoice, Black hues dissolved, What a fruitful harvest! Praise You, Oh our God! Without your love we wonder, What our life would be?