Silently, I left;
If I come quietly,
I watched quietly,
Pay tribute to the fog of childhood.
A bench in the shade,
Is the mother's arms;
The rustling of leaves,
This is a ballad that my mother hummed.
Mottled tree shadows,
Shake in your mind;
In the shadow of childhood,
I would like to be a bird.
The words of childhood,
It is not a child's talk, but a gentle ideal;
Scattered under street lamps,
Render a warm dream.
Looking for dreams? Put on a pair of wings,
Wandering towards the end of the blue sky;
Pick a shiny one,
Singing in the crimson clouds.
But I can't sing,
Silence is farewell; autumn
Ye is also lonely to me,
Loneliness is yesterday's flute!
I left silently,
Just as I came silently;
I flapped my wings,
Don't take away a mist.