To His self-portrait

    　　It seems nothing has happened.

    　　He sits
    　　Finishing reading every word in the newspaper.
    　　His mind is filled with a variety of feelings.
    　　With the smoking he has just finished，
    　　The rising and dissolving haze spirals
    　　Into the emptiness in the room.

    　　Evening floods over the land.
    　　In the twilight there rises
    　　the last brilliance on the river.
    　　Shortly after，stars sparkle
    　　In their respective locations.
    　　The city，by river and near mountain，
    　　In the wake of daily clamours，
    　　Shows its grand spectacle.
    　　He steps to the window to inhale freah air，
    　　Trying to search for some talking topics.
    　　When the supper is set on the table，
    　　It seems nothing has happened.

    　　He brushes off the dust on his body
    　　And hums faintly
    　　An out-of-date song；
    　　Thus he adjusts himself
    　　To the bass
    　　Of cello.