In early morning, whenever open the eyes,
It flows that the unrecoverable old stories, suddenly.
The autumn airs are whirling like the spring tides,
The regrets and sorrows surges upon to me.
Whenever the old recollection occurs to the minds,
Like the rising tides, it make me soaking.
Escape from the seashores, holding the pen in hands,
Without the thought, I fill on the sheets with something.
For a short time, the sheets are full of the rambling letters.
As usual, I'll tear the sheets when the sun rising.
Out of the windows, the thick clouds cover the airs.
Maybe the sun indeed will be lazy this morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem