故事里的树

不是故事里那一棵
是一棵不太老的树

晨光照着很清很清的水
小河从树旁悄悄悄流过
几条很漂亮很漂亮的鱼儿
在卵石缝中快乐快乐穿梭

许许多多带露珠的青青草
盖住了树下土地的颜色
偶而飞来难看难看的鸟儿
张望着在叶间叶间跳落

喔 又是你的撕了皮的大厚书
和问不完不完的为什么
喔 又是我的掉了漆的破吉它
和唱不尽不尽的童年歌

那树好茂盛
却从没有知了和毛毛虫的窝

The Tree in the Story

Not that tree in the story,
It’s a tree not too old.

The morning sun shines on the water so limpid,
The brook flows, sneaking by the tree;
Several fishes, that are so beautiful,
Shuttle happily among pebble stones.

A lot of green grass with dewdrops
Covers the hue of earth beneath the tree;
Occasionally here fly some so ugly birds,
Looking around, hopping among leaves.

Oh, it’s again your big thick book with torn cover,
And so interminable and endless whys.
Oh, it’s again my broken guitar with peeling paint,
And so interminable and endless nursery rhymes.

How luxuriant the tree is!
But no cidada or caterpillar has ever nested on it.

By Isaiah Siegfried Chen