He stands tall on the street through many a spring,

Silent, keeping watch by the old family gate.

Thorns line the aged trunk, yet warmth lies within,

Alone he shields his children from the world's dust.

At spring's first breath, he bursts in crimson cloud,

No green leaf borrowed to adorn his splendor.

Falling to earth with a clang, his form unbroken,

While peach and plum drift down to dust and sand.

I turn, and frost has settled on his temples,

His silhouette grows distant, the road still long.

Only now I see that towering tree of old

Blooms at dusk, to shelter children yet to come.

傲立街头几度春，

无言静守故家门。

老干生刺藏温厚，

独为儿女挡风尘。

春风初度绽红霞，

不借青枝衬丽华。

坠地铿然形未改，

任凭桃李逐尘沙。

蓦然回首鬓添霜，

背影渐远路犹长。

方悟昔日参天树，

为庇儿孙绽晚阳。