A modern poem about the unchanging
The mountain has no mausoleum
The river is exhausted
Telling the legend
< p> Facing the flowers witheredThe fragrant grass changed the dry field
The green leaves on the branches turned into white snow again
You looked at the wrinkles on my forehead< /p>
I am counting the white hairs on your temples
Time has gone like this
What you are holding is the past
The child is older
I want to go far away
In my heart
I have concerns again
Along the way
To walk to that mountain with no tombs
Ordinary days
Just as hurriedly walking
Look at the sunset on the horizon
It’s still that red sunset< /p>
Finally
Don’t forget
The promise in the afterlife