Flocks of crows once again appear,
Towards the marching forest they tear.
From the Winter slope I wake up,
Downwards gliding the dream goes.
The sunlight sometimes will still keep
The agitation when two dogs meet.
That symphonic music a hospital is,
Cleans out the chaos of this mortal life.
The old person suddenly passed away,
In the whole life the cloth he weaved.
Water gushes up the branches' tips,
Rose made in metal will never wilt.
(translated by oswald poem 醒悟by Bei Dao)