Doe-Rah-Jee

Doe-rah-jee
Doe-rah-jee
Doe-oh-rah-jee

Deeply stretching in the
Pungent spring-rained soil
Of a Korean hill.

Oh, doe-rah-jee
Even one or two roots are a treasure,
You a lesser price of the ginseng-gold.

Oh, doe-rah-jee
Your white arms, legs and trunk
slivered and mixed in a tangy hot sauce.

I chew, I savour and
I swallow you slowly into me,
My sinew and song:

Doe-rah-jee
Ah-ri-rang
Doe-oh-rah-jee.