Just like a small piece of blood stained string,
Just like poor mother with her baby,
Just like the muddy spot on the window's glass panel,
These are the voices of the grey turtledoves of the forest.
The wind has become strong,
The surface of the lake is dusky, empty and boundless,
My life
Is going to come up.
(Translated by oswald, from 楊鍵 詩集"慚愧" 106頁之灰斑鳩)
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