不记得哪一天
我开始写诗
只记得那是个雨天
我看到好多人
抖抖索索挤在一堵门里，
翘首等待着天晴
我绕过了门
步入了一个古老的荒园
地上有很多飘零的花瓣
一片片，我将它们拾起来
贴在我的心上
那天，我被雨淋湿了
走出荒园以后
我却成了诗人
Not remembering which day
Not remembering which day
I began to write poetry,
I only recall it rained.
Many people crowded
in front of a gate,
trembling, waiting for the sky to clear.
Around the gate I walked
into an old desolate yard
where fallen petals covered the ground.
Piece by piece I picked them up
and placed them on my heart.
That day I was soaked.
Coming out of the yard,
I turned into a poet.
