The Precious
I picked up a stone it was green but not jade
Even I could see that.
Took it home rinsed it in the sink it was still
Green and did not pretend to be jade
Put the stone in the windowsill where sunlight
And winter shade gave it ordinariness.
Threw the stone away knew it was not jade
But it could have been bloody something
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem