To Go Up The Oldie Hill Poem by Kinsley Lee

The oldie hill when I played in my childhood, today, again, I stand up to balk.
The poet's words that the landscape was the same as before, is the empty talk.
The large pine tree which was standing up here was cut off to vanish.

I turned to walk to the foot of the mountain with a crane.
In which year it was collapsed by the wind and rain.
In the soil, the new pine grew to try and stretch the branches to the sky.