我在這條街上走的時候，

已經見不到街了。

一條青石路油亮光滑，

那是清末遺留的一條長辮，

順坡而下的民房，

像倒扣的黑色瓜皮帽，

百年忘了撿拾。

棉花幫最后的幫主，

作為一幅民俗畫的落款，

進了博物館。

和畫一起陳列的，還有當年，

西洋人馬丁的黑白記憶。

一條街蒸發了，

這里的棉花飄飛為云。

剩下一條路可以交通，

我曾經上上下下，

找個小店喝碗老酒，

在那里聽那些跑船的人，

戲說舊年的繁榮。

一碟花生米，

余味無窮。

街沒有了，

青石板路不在了，

喝酒的店子找不到了。

沒有人可以和我進入以往，

以往模糊不清。

我不知道這里丟失了什么，

棉花街，真的上了年紀。

COTTON STREET

This street already vanished

When I walked in

A road made of grey rocks，smooth and shiny

Resembled a long braid，a remnant from the Qing Dynasty

The houses ran down the slope

Like black melon caps over the ground

For over a hundred years

No one came to claim them

The last lord of the Cotton Gang

As a name on a folk painting

Became a collection of the museum

A black and white memory，from Martin，a westerner

Was also on display

A street evaporated

The cotton here flew away

It changed into clouds

The broken road could be used for vehicles

I used to go up and down

To find a small place to order a bowl of old wine

I heard stories there，of prosperous old times

From the people who ran the boat business

A small plate of peanuts

Its taste you would never forget

The street is gone

Grey rocks are gone

The wine shops are nowhere to be found

Nobody can enter the past with me

The past is receding

I feel totally at a loss

Cotton Street，you are old