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Spring might be at the telephone booth
On the Xiamen street where some silly thoughts were left.
When the airmails were sent from there,
The eyes started to endure the pain.
Stamp, stamp, stamp
The seal of every sort of language heavily stroke.
Maybe the mailbox has already forgotten the secrets
and the soul behind that very long thick scarf.
The bloom of sakura was followed by the prevalence of flu.
It’s always like this.
April gave its first notice to the nose,
Along the Tongan street I went home through the narrow lanes.
Over ten springs were squandered in that same city.
Springtime or something less spring came and went away.
What a shame.
In the end, spring might be considered as
Some hurting memories,
Some desire and some dust，
The alluring onion smell emerging from the kitchen,
And the faint ink fragrance from the evening newspaper
Telling me in the suburbs what flowers can be seen.
The experienced professor was once a young teacher,
and the young teacher was once a student with clean-shaven face.
A long lifetime is only a half-dozen ties I wore.
The one on our first date
And she giggled at it.
Or the one at the graduation ball,
Or the one at the wedding ceremony, or another one.
That light scarlet tie gradually faded into a dark brown color,
Like a shot of espresso without any sweetener.
It’s like hanging oneself by installment.
It cannot be called cruel, if the suffocation doesn't bother your brain.
Spring might be a fragile specimen,
A bookmark made by a daffodil or a butterfly,
Put in a Webster's dictionary and then locked on the top floor of the library.
The four-floor building is higher than every piece of twilight.
A building shouldn’t be too high, and a book shouldn’t be too old,
Just as a book shouldn’t have a bookmark to remind its loneliness.
So many springs are so far away. The spring at Qingdao,
The spring at Gettysburg,
And the spring filled with songs of cuckoos in the air,
With the apple blossoms lying on the ground.
April was lower than the soles of your shoes,
But was higher than the wings of birds and bumblebees.
Don't forget the civil war's cemetery where the tombs were covered by the grass blades.
And it’s more or less like a long lifetime.
The so called childhood,
The anti-Japanese war,
My second year at high school,
And my third year in college.
A honeymoon doesn't forbid lunar eclipse.
And the poverty doesn’t exclude beauty.
A wife was once a bride,
A bride was once a girlfriend,
And a girlfriend was once very very shy.
The so called famous or not famous
Mortal or immortal
Are all like the so called spring more or less.
谢谢@Flora910504 帮我修改，么么哒！
原诗：
或者所谓春天 余光中
或者所谓春天也不过就在电话亭的那边
厦门街的那边有一些蠢蠢的记忆的那边
航空信就从那里开始
眼睛就从那里忍受
邮戳邮戳邮戳
各种文字的打击
或者那许多秘密邮筒已忘记
围巾遮住大半个灵魂
流行了樱花流行感冒
总是这样，四月来时先通知鼻子
回家，走同安街的巷子
或者在这座城里一泡真泡了十几个春天
不算春天的春天，泡了又泡
这件事，一想起来就觉得好冤
或者所谓春天
最后也不过就是这样子：
一些受伤的记忆
一些欲望和灰尘
一股开胃的葱味从那边的厨房
然后是淡淡的油墨从一份晚报
报导郊区的花讯
或者所谓的老教授不过是新来的讲师变成
讲师曾是新刮脸的学生
所谓一辈子也不过打那么半打领带
第一次，约会的那条
引她格格地发笑
或者毕业舞会的那条
换了婚礼的那条换了
或者浅绯的那条后来变成
变成深咖啡的这条，不放糖的咖啡
想起这也是一种分期的自缢，或者
不能算那么残忍除了有点窒息
或者所谓春天也只是一种轻脆的标本
一张书签，曾是水仙或蝴蝶
书签在韦氏大字典里字典在图书馆的楼上
楼高四层高过所有的暮色
楼怕高书怕旧旧书最怕有书签
好遥好远的春天，青岛
的春天，盖提斯堡
的春天，布谷满天
苹果花落得满地，四月，比鞋底更底
比蜂更高鸟更高，比内战内战的公墓墓上的草
而回想起来也不见得就不像一生
所谓童年
所谓抗战
所谓高二
所谓大三
所谓蜜月，并非不月蚀
所谓贫穷，并非不美丽
所谓妻，曾是新娘
所谓新娘，曾是女友
所谓女友，曾非常害羞
所谓不成名以及成名
所谓朽以及不朽
或者所谓春天