A down depressed day, I walked myself uphill,
I saw a little boy, sitting on the ground crying,
A few dots of mud stained on his red frozen face.
I held him in the arm, "Why are you crying?"
"Mummy is gone .....", he answered with his twisted eyebows,
"Where has she gone?" "Gone buying needles."
I put him down, walked myself uphill.
How nice it is, needles, child, mummy.....
(translated by oswald poem黃昏by楊鍵 詩集＂慚愧＂53頁）
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