There are always some days in a year
They are gentle, peaceful and idle.
The last few pages of the calendar
are covered with jars and jars New Year's goods
After being washed and bathed by water
Together with my elderly villagers
Sticking against the leeward wall
Breathing and re-breathing Drinking the sunshine
Propping up the hard material
Welcoming the sleepless new year
At this time, my father was sitting in front of the church
Using Hu Qin's hoarse words
Conversation with the innocent sparrow under the eaves
Occasionally lighting a cigarette
He swallowed three hundred and sixty-five bitter words Spicy and sweet
Occasionally a cough or two
Startled the puppy and barked a few times
Running around as if nothing happened
Nestled myself into the master’s past again
I stood at dusk
Watching the sunset’s drumsticks beating the earth
Watching my mother in the garden Rows of green hope are planted in it
Looking at the white snow covering my father’s head inch by inch
Looking at the old year walking away quietly