poem of 七夕
remember last year's day
was it with you and me
that we laid our hand on the草甸
said nothing about then returning from the sun
the pure sky had passed without a trace
the wind's melody had never wavered in three hundred sixty-five days
i forgot whether it was your temperature
but i could still recall the softness of April's light
i couldn't remember if you had been pulling my 'face' to you
no sound of hope or joy fell into my ears
the night that we wrote this poem is long gone
whether i'm still in the city or not
in a world of clouds, i float with a song's refrain
i can't remember where you are now
within those empty hollows
a gentle breeze has woven through your hair
the sound of fall leaves rustle over the tree-top
so I'm looking back upon the season that once was full of beauty and promise
beneath our eyes, i see the beginning of a new chapter
but it's not worth living for
i've written this poem on a day when it wasn't mine anymore
till next spring when you might say, "the seasons are here"
