SINGING Poem by Zheng Xiaoqiong

Inside the furnace singing iron, full of memory
It's bass or treble, painful and piercing life
Its dialect is draped in spring's fire and autumn's rain
This burning brilliance gives way to life's deterioration
Dying out, the young woman sitting by the furnace
Sings a folk song, she sees the setting sun cross the furnace
Walks into the industrial complex's rush hour
In its engulfing glow reside my grief and prospects
Along with the iron's frantic sobbing
My grief steadfast in the setting sun
My song passes by like the whisper of water passing through
What remains is white hope in a bucket of swaying flames