The Silkworm of Modern Poetry

As short as a shooting star across the sky

That lazy sleeper

Like a simple prose poem

More silent

Silent as a profound philosophy

More like a pithy aphorism

It's a worm that grows in the folklore

It doesn't seek a mansion

It doesn't ask for food

It doesn't fight, it doesn't talk

On a seat of scorn, it lies in silence. It doesn't seek a mansion

It doesn't ask for food

It doesn't fight, it doesn't make noise

It lays down its life on a seat of scorn

People pluck the cocoon and turn the silk

And turn your dream of becoming a butterfly

Into a bubble

The pupa is turned into a gourmet food

And the silk is woven into a cheongsam

It becomes a noblewoman's halo of prominence. The silk, woven into cheongsams

became the halo of noblewomen

became popular as Tang clothes

and made its way to the halls of elegance

Silkworms, you little elves

eat mulberry leaves

and spit out soft and fragrant silk

have dedicated your entire body to mankind

No wonder you're called a silkworm, and a worm of the earth

No wonder you're famous for the Silk Road

The silk road, the silk route, the silk road, the silk road, the silk road.

The Silk Road

Your short life

has resulted in great splendor

You little elf

Your simple and honest life

Who else

deserves my praise more

?