三月莓圃

小靴踩乱垄头霜,
竹篮摇碎春日光。
东风也学孩童样,
偷把胭脂抹脸庞。

Cute Strawberries

A rebel red in frost-kissed earth,
you rise too soon, too bold—
a summer heart in spring’s cold cradle,
a flame against the mold.

The sparrow steals your firstborn sweet,
the wind nips at your crown.
Yet still you stretch your tender veins
where last year’s snows melt down.

O little prophet of the vine,
why rush the sun’s slow hand?
You bleed your juice in thirsty soil
to teach the land to stand.


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