The First Green - Poem by Kong Yin
In this ancient village
stood a windmill
and a merry wood
where children amused themselves.
birds playing hide and seek;
wisps of smoke
added to its charms.
At the entrance of the village,
glittering in sunlight,
a girl holding crocuses often sat
on a huge green rock, waiting for him.
At midnight, a lightning bolt struck;
the windmill withered like a dry leaf.
The broken walls marked
the last terror of the children.
The cold smoke
froze in a clear yet enigmatic mist.
In the woods
Wind no longer lingers.
Birds ply a different route.
Shakily, insects crawl, dreading
the ghosts’ nightly mourning hymns.
Hope is reduced into ashes.
Dreams are burned to cinders.
Only on the huge green rock
where the girl sat, shyly and quietly
holding crocuses, does
a tiny spray of green
begin to bud.
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