[創作] Tomb Sweeping

[hemels (脂肪球)]

  It is not yet April -
  we arrived ahead of time;
  the ancestors, summoned in haste,
  dresses up hurriedly in solemn fashion.

  The road mudden'd
  from rain a night before,
  the weeds hoed aside
  bleeding from the tomb keeper's slaughter;
  The sun is warm,
  the air is dry, pronouncing
  a perfect day to sweep the tomb.

  Array the fruits and delicacies:
  a soused fish for grandpa,
  whole chicken for greatgrandpa;
  pour in the rice wine,
  "Too much for one sip!"
  mother cries as well-known is
  the family's inaptitude for liquor.

  Burn the incense,
  say the prayers,
  give news to the deceased
  in the Heavenly West;
  And when the incense is half-gone,
  we send the cash
  to Earth and to them,
  with tips for wandering good-brothers
  who may get the wrong address.

  "Oh fathers, Oh Earth,
   protect the children,
   and give us mirth;
   year by year we serve
   here to sweep your tomb,
   to hymn again the tunes
   of peace, of love, of blood."

  In silence the ancestors listen,
  an answer is given
  when the coins are thrown,
  and thus the descedents know
  a question as accepted, foolish, or "No!".

  Now end the sweeping quietly,
  leave the evergreen garden
  with nothing but ashes,
  close the gates -
  and come not again,
  think no more of heavens and peace,
  till April comes next spring.





--

  Real Madrid                           
                                        
       - the one & only football elixir.



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