Morning
Zheng Chouyu

The song of birds has knocked on my window, sounding like glazed inverted bells
All through the night raindrops have moistened the blue monk’s habit in my dream
Now hanging from the tall banana tree outside
Early morning, like a little girl on tiptoe, has come
To peep at the tonsure of my youth with a kind of regret
A touch cool to the skin, saying, “Oh, to go home now!”

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