A Song On the End of the World

    A bee circles a clover，

    A fisherman mends a glimmering net.

    Happy porpoises jump in the sea，

    By the rainspout young sparrows are playing

    And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

    On the day the world ends

    Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas，

    A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn，

    Vegetable peddlers shout in the street

    And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island，

    The voice of a violin lasts in the air

    And leads into a starry night.

    And those who expected lightning and thunder

    Are disappointed.

    And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps

    Do not believe it is happening now.

    As long as the sun and the moon are above，

    As long as the bumblebee visits a rose，

    As long as rosy infants are born

    No one believes it is happening now.

    Only a white-haired old man， who would be a prophet

    Yet is not a prophet， for he's much too busy，

    Repeats while he binds his tomatoes：

    No other end of the world will there be，

    No other end of the world will there be.