111 梁雨楠07-08-31
Let your music,like a sword,pierce the noise of the market to its heart.
The trembling leaves of this tree touch my heart like the fingers of an infant child.
The little flower lies in the dust.
It sought the path of the butterfly.
I am in the world of the roads.
The night comes, open thy gate, thou world of the home.
I have sung thy songs of the day.
In the eveinig let me carry thy lamp through the stormy path.
I do not ask thee into the house.
Come into my infinite loneliness,my honey.
Death belongs to life as birth does.
The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.
