A Boat
Shu Ting

A small boat
For no reason comes
To moor on this rocky shore,
Tipping lopsided in the shallows.
Though its sail is split,
Traces of paint are still visible.
There are no trees for shade here,
Even grass refuses to grow.

As the sea swells in full tide,
The waves gasp for breath
And the gulls nervously flap their wings.
Though the edgeless sea
Has its far-reaching domain,
Yet within a small span
It has lost its last strength.

With eternal distance between,
They gaze ruefully at each other.
Love can cross the boundary of life and death.
In the space of centuries
Is woven the enduring vision of rejuvenation.
Is it possible that love, no matter how true
Will still rot with the boat's timber?
Is it possible that the winged soul
Shall forever be held captive on the threshold of freedom?