Here is the ditch of dead and hopeless water,
No breeze can raise a ripple on it.
Best to throw in it scraps of rusty iron and copper,
Pour out in it all the refuse of meat and soup.

Perhaps the copper will turn green like emeralds,
Perhaps the rusty iron will assume the shape of peach blossoms;
Let grass weave a layer of silky gauze
And bacteria puff up patches of cloud and haze.

So let the dead water ferment into green wine,
Littered with floating pearls of white foam.
Small pearls crackle aloud and become big pearls,
Only to be burst like gnats and to rob the vintage.

So this ditch of dead and hopeless water
May boast a touch of brightness.
If the toads cannot endure the deathly silence,
The water may bust out singing.

Here is a ditch of dead and hopeless water,
A region where beauty can never stay.
Never abandon it to evil-
Then perhaps, some beauty will come of it.

Wen I-Tuo
1899-1946