The stream crosses from grass to white,
You sigh, sky furs flow beam of light.
Can't even by roaring, the wind will hear.
Not even able shouting, the airy drop will spare.
The rock under long boots and swords,
Stabbed through black hair and bloods.
Hang on her face et all, eyes
the evil is her and destined,
to fall.
So let the thunder dye the east,
Sunlight will burn her fists.
When the bronze filled the empty,
Clouds phantom a fading story,
Marching, marching
The new is raging!
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
ŞiirA poetry collection written by a Chinese girl. Biggest life goal of her: sitting in perfect balance of daylights and nights, back towards a mysterious naked tree, a cup of chai is better than coffee. Thinking, turn a being as living
