A Chinese Nightingale
星期三 六月 11, 2008 3:53 pm
A nightingale flew inside my cage -
last night,
he didn’t fly away;
he knew me better than others,
and stayed.
The whole night
he sang the only song,
his voice drained.
Why? I asked,
warm palms baited with
a few wheat grains.
Come, take some,I cooed.
But my voice too shallow,
and his head too proud to lower.
I turned,
caught my own shadow,
too heavy to lift.
