In your palm
Quietly flow the little rivers
Softly sing the birds
In your palm
The wind murmurs among the leaves
Your say this is a very serious thing

All this is in your palm
But in your palm I must fulfill myself
And brocade-like days

The days
Always hurry away, giving birth to other days
In your palm
I laugh I walk I sleep I drink
Fain would I brew out of myself a bottle of
Rice wine
That is very old.

　　　　　　中華民國筆會　一九七七年