On Spring
Wen Yiduo

Spring is like a singing bird, which,
At the end of winter, bursts
Into the deep blue sky.

A mysterious life
Stirs and stretches under the green, delicate bark,
To the point of sending out imprisoned
Verdant sprouts.

Oh! Poet!
Dry your icy tears and
Be ready to sing your song
In praise of the renewal of your life.