A ballad of Eastern Mountain runs from the stone crack
The fall’s alertness falling down to the bottom of heart
The sunny tomorrow relates to today’s rain
though once choked, it’s good to speak out
The encounter with the moonlight supports a long journey
Lying in the room of past events, awaken from the dream
Fragrance of gardenia climbs up from the gloom
slowly unfolds, into a human shape
Outside the window, an isolated cloud emerges in the sky
Fast and slow alternate in a steady way, each step generates a duckweed
From Eastern Mountain under clouds comes the sound of horse steps
The drooping branches
are fingering a thick black braids
The rustling cool breeze is filtered by memory
becoming the breath of a wisp of black hair
Baskets on the dock are soft and wet
A basket of peaches with green leaves
the rosy-in- white faces are in front of you
You smile bitterly and say to yourself
never expect to grow old so easily
the river reflected in skin has become a wrinkle
That how many miles yet to go
has been irrelevant to you
What’s relevant is that you are still on the road
and no longer believe having seen through the world path, but
cherish an unknown meeting
Whom to encounter on the road is less important
what’s important is the feelings and expectations of the encounter