A Portrait of Xiao Er at Chegongzhuang Station

With the black tide of the crowd,

A daisy was drifting on

In a detached air,

Slow and Sure,

Her color mingled

With the warm sunlight

In September,

When a gust of wind whistled by,

Blowing her dress

Into a balloon,

Scattering her hair

Without permission,

And forced her to turn back

To the sea of faces floating near,

One hand on her knees

To bar the inquisitive intruder,

And the other on her bowed head

To smooth the wisps of her hair.

A shy and sheepish smile

Flickered across her lips,

As if a daisy came out unnoticed

In the sweeping noises of the station.