Crow Lake



On the suburban at sunset,
A road,
A place named Crow Lake,
Only have one chance to appeared in a poem.

The suburban at sunset,
White hair on tragedies twined round
the hands of lumberer.
Another road,
Crow crowd flew across another
unknown cemetery.

They have the equal chance,
They make up the space that
the setting sun could open up its serenity.

A road and a place
A couple of painful companion;
The Crow crowd pass though
the acoustic they survive together,
A tree corresponded a man, they waited each other.