To the Oak
Zheng Min

If I love you —
I'll never be a clinging campsis flower
Resplendent in borrowed glory on your high boughs;
If I love you —
I'll never mimic the silly infatuated bird
Repeating the same monotonous song for green shade;
Or be like a spring
Offering cool comfort all year long;
Or a lofty peak
Enhancing your stature, your eminence.
Even the sunlight,
Even spring rain,
None of these suffice!
I must be a kapok, the image of
A tree standing together with you;
Our roots closely intertwined beneath the earth,
Our leaves touching in the clouds.
With every whiff of wind
We greet each other
But no one can
Understand our words.
You'll have bronze limbs and iron trunk,
Like knives, swords
And halberds.
I'll have my crimson flowers
Like signs, heavy and deep,
Like heroic torches,
Together we'll share
The cold tidal waves, storms, and thunderbolts;
Together we'll share
The light mist, the colored rainbows;
We shall always depend on each other.
Only this can be called great love.
Wherein lies the faith, true and deep.
I love not only your stateliness
But also your firm stand, the earth beneath you.