In China's dawn, the suona's wail doth rise,
A serpentine melody through mist it twists,
Its brass body gleams 'neath the light that shyly glows,
A guardian of tales, a weaver of mists.

The villagers stir as the suona's cry passes by,
A rooster crows, dogs bark, hens cluck in jest,
It weeps for the born, for the dead it cries,
A herald of joy, a mourner of woe.

For loves lost, it sings; for union, it plays,
A versatile voice in the sun's bright rays,
In rain, it laments; in storm, it portrays,
The soul of the earth in its sorrowful tones.

Oh, suona, your song, a sharp blade,
Revealing truths in life's grand parade.