on the Road to Old Shoe-shaped Village 

Still he was living there, the child, 
The boy, leaping, running, 
In front of him his school bag 
Tied on his shoulder, the pencils in the 
Tin pencilcab in it producing 
A most pleasant music of 
Clear beautiful rhythm 

And the sun on the sky still the same 
Nine o’clock sun; the same 
Puberty-green sweet persimmons peeping out 
Through the leaves of persimmon trees 
On the way; and now, the child 
Turns to his classmate’s home on the 
Roadside and she smiles back at him, but 
In his eye there is nothing but a green 
Pepper path; 

And now, just on the 
Other side of the hill, a small hill, 
His own home with his Mom and Pa 
Still young and powerful, working in the garden, 
Wearing a big fresh smile, and his grandma 
And a sister, still an infant… 

But he must stop and turn back, letting 
Only the child go on as ever and 
Live with them forever; to fasten 
The nine o’clock morning sun on the 
Same spot of the sky; to keep the puberty- 
Green sweet persimmons and his beautiful 
Little seatmate from moving, 
Waning away; to return to regain the child 
Lost somewhere on time’s wornout road 
Outside this green island. 

Still he was living there, the child, 
The boy, leaping, running, 
In front of him his school bag 
Tied on his shoulder, the pencils in the 
Tin pencilcab in it producing 
A most pleasant music of 
Clear beautiful rhythm 

And the sun on the sky still the same 
Nine o’clock sun; the same 
Puberty-green sweet persimmons peeping out 
Through the leaves of persimmon trees 
On the way; and now, the child 
Turns to his classmate’s home on the 
Roadside and she smiles back at him, but 
In his eye there is nothing but a green 
Pepper path; 

And now, just on the 
Other side of the hill, a small hill, 
His own home with his Mom and Pa 
Still young and powerful, working in the garden, 
Wearing a big fresh smile, and his grandma 
And a sister, still an infant… 

But he must stop and turn back, letting 
Only the child go on as ever and 
Live with them forever; to fasten 
The nine o’clock morning sun on the 
Same spot of the sky; to keep the puberty- 
Green sweet persimmons and his beautiful 
Little seatmate from moving, 
Waning away; to return to regain the child 
Lost somewhere on time’s wornout road 
Outside this green island.