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Dove
燕子飞时 04／02／07
Under a tree by the busy boulevard
There lied her little, light body
Like a small piece of rag
That could not feel, that could not breath
There was no passerby
Who stopped for a moment of grief
While the light was still red
I wondered about her past
How her feather had sheened
How sweet her songs used to be
The sky witnessed her innocent pride
The cloud whispered wind on her side
On which morning she spread wings for the first time
In which springs she was eagerly pursued
Were her troubles only occasional
Had she cried on a snowing winter day
But however wild the imagination goes
There are places one can never reach
From the little spirit that had flied passionately
Not you, not me, the secrets are for eternity
Look, the light is turning green
I am back to the weary traffic stream
Soon I’ll forget all about her
That little dove who was so happy
.