Childhood
Secrets
When
I
was
three
or
four,
I
buried
Several
hard-‐gained
marbles
Near
our
rented
room,
hoping
one
day
They
would
grow
into
magic
trees
Half
a
century
later,
I
dug
them
all
out
On
a
dull
afternoon.
The
moment
I
put
the
first
one
on
my
table,
a
flock
Of
crows
flew
up;
when
I
thought
of
The
second,
it
burned
like
a
forest
fire
Now
I
hesitate
to
write
the
word
‘immortality’
Lest
my
last
marble
should
melt
with
diamonds
By
yuan
changming
5