Here is a short poem I wrote in Chinese and translated a few years ago:
Rolling in the bluestems, they brush the waist as I suckle the milk thistle bulb.
Spring now a green softness and dew overlays the earth.
Pine needles and toe-tips remember the pained staid-season.
Now footprints on the cool riverbank clay and an upward surge through the crown!
© 2011, Amaya Engleking