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The little golden dancer

Dance as soon as the wind blows

Under the sun

Walking is like drifting

Swirl the skirt

There is not a single bit of mud on your body

Not close to the smoky miasma

You won't get any tips from men

The little golden dancer

Dancing under the moon

Not at all relentless

I said she had to be the first in the competition

Who is her mother

Water, of course

Why didn't she go ashore?

A piece of yellow?

In that case, it will no longer be a golden little dancer

It can't be brought to life

Like a dragonfly dotting water

"The Song of Things" poem, additional prose The little golden dancing girl is being hit by hand, please wait a moment,

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