Chapter 3 In front of the ancient shrine
In front of the ancient shrine
before the ancient shrine
on the dark water,
print me how much
Thoughtful footsteps,
Than the long-legged water spider,
Lighter and faster footprint.
From the green locust leaves,
it leaps lightly to
On the water saturated with ancient melancholy bells
It skims the ripples, treads the weeds,
across the small, small
Walk briskly.
Then, hesitated,
gave birth to wings...
it flew up,
This little mayfly,
No, it's a butterfly, it flies,
Among the reeds, on the red Polygonum flowers;
it ascended,
turned into a lark,
Sprinkle voiceless sounds on the ground...
Now it is a roc.
Among the floating clouds,
In the vast blue sky,
It spreads its wings slowly,
Soar ninety thousand miles,
A getaway to past and future lives.
it circles, alone,
On the distant cloud mountain,
at the edge of the world;
For a long time, stubborn to the pitiful.
finally, desperately
it flies back to my heart
Dormant there sadly.