On my gravestone, there is no word, but a heart with a pair of wings. When all other parts die, those shall remain. The wind will flap those wings and the stream will bubble underground; The sunset will cast its song and the lake will unfold its poem. My grave will open its sliding tunnel, for a butterfly will flutter to the moon, when lavenders swing in evening primroses, a wish star will land in your dream. I will sit demure upon a blooming bay tree, scattering fragrant petals as the spring rain. 当我死去 在我的墓碑, 没有碑文,编辑于2006/07/07更新