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Moving
　　
　　龙小寒，０３／２７／０５
　　
　　When one is used to wander
　　Moving becomes a sweet chore
　　But not a sentiment
　　The next stop is doomed to be temporary
　　
　　Times of yore lives in the suitcase
　　Only to be seen at time of movings
　　A delicate brush, an old paper fan
　　A letter of young promises
　　I haven’t realized that
　　The past never changes
　　
　　The train of time moves slowly
　　The moment I look back there are regrets
　　But if I could start all over
　　There may be sorrows of another kind
　　
　　So I have to keep moving
　　My destination is somewhere in the future
　　Along the way I pick up and discard things
　　With vague expectation stuck in my heart