From green grass to road, she softly strides,Her paws now treading where asphalt divides.She stops, looks away, her gaze afar,Not to the road, but to some distant star. The hum of traffic, a low, distant sound,Her world is quiet, though it spins around.A flicker of thought, a pause in her way,As if the road holds…
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The Lead Bucket / 又見鉛桶
Forty years on, I see the lead bucket,as if time itself has kept its watch.It stands here, never rusting,yet seems to have waited so long for me. A handful of tears, a handful of sorrow,a handful of laughter, a handful of cold.The bucket says nothing, yet spills the years —the past evaporates, then rains back…