Modern Poetry
Snow
雪中
Qin Zihao
Thank God, drawn such a picture,
In this lonely street, drawing on the two of us;
Snow is the dream child equally colorful,
Gift to the middle of the river on a frozen stiff.
My arms are gray, Suimu the sentimental,
You face the Cardinal in the spring but Fudang -
I secretly think about, ah, if the drawing is also a voice
My heart to have to burst out: "My dear girl!"
You are deeply understand my meaning,
You are not lightly one word;
Far and near the affectionate term ruthless,
Are not the main way the wind drift of snow.
Finally I could bear this silence,
Only with the voice of my heart torn to drawing.
The same child or a dream snow Mimang,
Could not tell you in no longer in Mimang me.
|