Chapter 6 six

A child, holding another still smaller child, Seriously, directing the coachman, take them home A sunbeam, a lighter sunbeam, In the rush of time follow them closely They are not my children, I am their eternal guilt, but Father with nothing. A civil servant is off duty. The steps are broken, like an old-fashioned clock. Today he is out of line, He was in the vegetable market and smelled the smell of longing. A transparent, child's hand in the future turn around── please touch me I am your antique, your father, please take me home one The wind, the buzzing, the moving ice,

A few faces, and landscapes frozen in ice, An angle of light in the landscape, no longer changing The red sportswear spreads endlessly, Spreading out, it almost became the weather of the day. A shining one, will The action of cutting through the edges. love it! when the man finally turns around two With ice, with acetylene, to weld sentences, Generic a lackluster direction. He's a proficiency, starting to become shameless. The crash of ice cubes, the sound of overlapping words, so sweet, and all the rest, He no longer cared. love it! when the man finally turns around three

But what about time?above him to the right. It is an assumption that wearing Red sportswear. Love is a liquid, Words are solid, and he is only a dark shadow, It gradually faded away in mid-air. love it! when the man finally turns around Four Standing on the ground where half a sentence is still warm, The four seasons are like spring behind me, but in front of me── he felt fatally dizzy Hold on to the bridge railing built of ice. That touch that hasn't disappeared is enough for him Spend your old age peacefully, and look forward to Same hard afterlife. love it! when the man finally turns around

Fives The wind no longer carried him. This sentence is as long as his life, same in the landscape Reject the scenery. Death still flows quietly, And the posture of death has been fixed. A simple impulse! love it! when the man finally turns around Your evening is a golden tent, The twelve little beasts will return one after another. Those who are capable, fill their stomachs, Waiting helplessly for the story by the fire. The starry sky, the tent is so high and so vast, Mermaids and comets, bouillon and galaxies. There are more than ten!No one would go out, You put on your glasses and identify their tails.

The oldest child looked away in pain, The rest, pass your bones behind your back. The old look, slowly descending like frost, And those who love you are still young. Taking off your glasses, you sigh, The twelve fluffy little faces brightened up. No one needs to go out this night, You are the father of twelve little beasts this night.