Walking in the Rain
Huan Fu

A thread of spider silk straight down
Two threads of spider silk straight down
Three threads of spider silk straight down
Thousands of threads of spider silk straight down
Surrounding me in
a prison of spider silk
Countless spiders cast to the ground
Each turns a somersault, making a show of defiance
Then imprints my face, my clothes, with marks of sadness
I am stained all over with the marks of bitter struggle.
Ah, mother, I am so restless and homesick
I miss your gentle hands brushing away
These threads of troublesome rain that entangle me.