An Elegy on the seventh day after his death
I thought of the days when Hsiao Chao
was badly ill: each day I held
the frail him, in my arms, and roamed
the neighborhood, when I could
spare the time, at or back home;
He would struggle to free himself,
and run away, to stroll the land
where he had fought brave, or fall
into deep thought, stern and awesome…
Golden sunlight shone on the green
bushes. Hsiao Chao has lived to see
all flowers bloom, just like the spring
five years ago, when he broke into
my home, a magpie in his mouth.
April 24,2015, based on an entry of Prof. Kong Qingdong's(孔庆东) in his Sina microblog(Chines twitter) about his cat named Hsiao Chao.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem