A Butterfly from the Storm
Zhang Ling

In the season when the whirling water ran deep,
I saw a white butterfly
Fluttering over through the hazy storm
Like the echo of a forgotten paean
Like love that scorns everything

It looks slim and desolate
Like a fresh flower able to fly
Only fit to hover over a brooklet strewn with narcissi
Even a waft from the slight sigh of the storm
Could sweep it away or smash it
To say nothing of the roar of the storm
I really wonder
How it is able to mingle such a tender yearning
With the violence of wind and rain

A tiny butterfly ploughs through the storm
Surpassing the violence of the elements
Changing into the fresh puff of a breeze
To blow cheerfully over the fate of others
To emerge repeatedly and linger for long
Amid those bare trees and yellow plants
Incessantly in search of secret blossoming
With devoted zeal

Folding its own wings into envelops
To deliver the news of sunlight everywhere
Urging the flowering plants quietly:
Come into bloom again, bloom once again
The last blossoming
Is much more beautiful than the first

Who can have such an understanding for soothing grief
I no longer have any doubt
This tiny while butterfly
Has certainly come through the storm