Spring Maiden
Little fishes stared at my fingers
As I picked a few white flowers
Of the water-plant in the brook.
I sent you late a fan
Saying: “Paint me a picture.”
It has not yet come back,
And the autumnal wind begins to blow.
Like an actor
A praying-mantis walked out
From behind the crimson chest.
On a snowy day
Through the dark iron grating,
A bear cub sticks out
His little pink toes.
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