Cathay the way she write,
Waists flip and jade,
flows until a polished bright,
is a raining ache.
Maybe the letter is done by a cat,
eyes drown and cross
three times at,
blooming top of her rose.
Wooden boats and chai,
Mills sense running drops.
So the tiny prints fly,
A woman's hand holds rising rope.
Or red string, droops her sigh,
Oh the rain, river south turns with a neigh.
(An imagery poem describe ancient Chinese Watertown, the place where raises me and grow up.)
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
PuisiA 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
