Нужен стихотворение на про родной яхыке

Language, our language is gorgeous.
River and the expanse of the steppe in it,
It screams the eagle and wolf growl
Chant, and ringing, and incense pilgrimage.

It cooing of a dove in the spring,
Lark Rise to the sun - up, up.
Birch Grove. Light through.
Heavenly rain, spilled on the roof