The more you gain
the less you expect to losing
When the success becomes a habit
whenever and wherever you appear
you expect to see the eyes of respect
The sea where snow wolfs stretch claws
Howls at the junction of the night and day
The bamboo fence of morning glory
the midnight Wu Song slipping out of poetry
sweetly sweeps away the sound of washing clothes
Inside the vermilion door
on the carved mahogany desk
a bronze mirror illuminates the past
the man grinding ink that year has been melted by night
The omission of a soybean oil lamp
becomes the family symbol in your eyes
The grain stack of stars
a few straws fall sparklingly
The morning sun
ripens the autumn’s red apple
The cotton clouds are easily lit up
the ashes of years burning
pencil the dark circle under your eyes
The drumming sound of a forest woodpecker
and a couple of blowflies
crash at the window
sneaking up on you with humming afternoon drowsiness