by Ying Liu
Do you remember?
When we were children,
We made an agreement:
I would write a book of poetry,
You are my first reader...
But my youth has passed,
And my face is wrinkled,
I have not written it.
Nowadays,
My life has become a book ,
Never read and covered with dust,
In a strange city,
With no sunshine.
November 2015
记得
曾经的约定:
我会写一本诗集,
你是第一个读者...
可是
错过了青春
堆积了皱纹,
一直没有写...
却不经意
把自己
变成了一本书,
尘封在
这个陌生的
没有阳光的城市...
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