Ping Hsin (b. 1900)


Given to my little brother

His right hand holds his slingshot,
His left a clay pellet.
He sits there, back against a pillar,
His legs straight, watching the sky
With his black eyes,
Stalking the crows that come
To steal the grapes from the arbor.
He intends to kill, but he cannot
Change his expression -- filled with affection.
When I suddenly caught sight of him
From the window,
My eyes filled with tears.

               (translated by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung)

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Revised: February 11, 2000