Fragrant ripe lychees

Suddenly the sound of the cuckoo bird
Bringing from the distant lychee garden
The fruit begins to ripen
Sweet as homesickness”*

The voice of the cuckoo bird releasing the field
The lychee garden with rosy cheeks this morning is bewildered
The swarm of bees is lost in the air
The golden sunlight spreads over the alley, the grass is drunk with the season.

Don’t cut your hair and become a monk
Or the sweet lychee tree will turn sour
Our love is like a piece of betel nut
But the areca nut is not sweet, the lime is not strong.

The ferry across the river with a conical hat
The hardship of ripe lychee carrying the market
Sell away all the worries
Bring back a piece of the moon tilting the corner of the sky.

The lullaby of the hammock
The dragonfly sews the Malabar spinach shirt on the fence of the house
The lychee is fragrant since the time of flowering
Growing up from the years far and near.

Half a life of hunger and thirst
The sweat of the city, the dust of a foreign land
A face pale with wind and frost
The old mother waits for her child at the end of the road at the lychee tree