Spring was not silent,In early 1950s,

Bird humming,water buffalo whispering in the pond,

Flowers scented,streams crystalline,

Here was the left trails and footprints of my childhood.


Lived in Japanese-style wooden house–

With tatami cubicles and open courtyard;

Self-raised chickens and ducks,

Coal ball and charcoal for fire ,well water for drinking,


Street full of straddled bicyclists,

Oxcart walked on gravel country road,

Bundles of dried straw Piled up along field path,

Steam locomotive ejected out annoying floating cinders,

Sign!beloved parents only be called at midnight dream.


Hero and heroism ,Sword and swordsmanship,

Just like an old pop song;

Spring flower is more fragrant,

Autumn moon is brighter,

How happy I am an adolescent!


After half a century of wandering,

My far-away,nostalgic hometown,

Between Ocean and Mountains,

Now I see the waves spray hit by sea tide,

Flooding forward into the beach,

Then subsiding…‧      




This poem is about: 
My country


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