Little Angle



It was a shiny moon once in May
when a tender angel came from the sky,
she seized my heart in a glance on her way,
then, she passed like a spectrum in my eye.



If I ease my heart and let my past,
She promised me to come back again.
Here gentle wisdom woke me up at last,
“Who cries on the spilt milk is an insane.”



Let the rain fall and wash away my sorrow,
the nightingale birds hope to sing.
No matter if a flower is dead, tomorrow
new buds bloom in the spring.





Oh my little angel, I’m so grateful to you,
But, was it a dream? Or the dream has come true?