One son is many sons.

一个儿子就是许多个儿子

A bundle, a putto, a grave

一个包袱，一个贝嘟嘟，一个坟墓

Boy with kind eyes. One blow

孩子眼中满是友善。只一下

Cracks all their bones at once.

骨头全都破碎

Pastes all the gold hair red.

金发染成鲜红

Soft lip and toothless mouth

柔软的唇和失去牙齿的嘴

Drop blood on the breast.

鲜血滴淌在胸前

A white-haired crawler on grass

爬行在草里的白发人

Head like a dandelion-clock

脑袋像一朵蒲公英时钟

Above daisy-faces that come,

垂在一片小雏菊的脸上

Yellow and white and green

黄的、白的、绿的

Year after year after year

年复一年，年复一年

Stops like a toy wound down.

像发条玩具一样停下

Like a doll dropped in the wet.

一个掉在水里的布玩偶

I am a cold grey house.

我是一座又冷又暗的房子

In every room a boy

每个房间里都有一个男孩

Gestures and halts and falls

摆着各种姿势，定住，然后跌倒

Again and again and again,

一次又一次，一次又一次

A boy with his hamster curled

一个男孩把蜷缩的仓鼠

On his trembling extended palm,

放在他颤抖的掌心

Like a rigid ammonite,

仓鼠僵硬如菊石

“Is he dead, is he asleep?”

"他死了吗？还是睡着了？"

And the boy who leaned his head

还有一个男孩，脑袋

On my shoulder in a bus.

靠着我肩膀，在巴士上

He slept so deep, he jerked

睡得太深，猛不丁会抽搐一下

And lolled as the bus ground on

当巴士停下，身体随之下坠

Like a puppet, like a sack,

像个木偶，或布袋

But he was warm that week –

但那一周他都很温暖——

My cheek was damp with his warmth –

我的脸颊被他的温暖浸润着——

And five days later cold.

五天后才变得冰冷

Like a thicket of garden gnomes,

就像灌木丛中那些小精灵

A memorial garden full

纪念花园里到处都是

Of cherubs and sleeping babes,

小天使和熟睡的婴儿

Moulded in thick cement,

用厚厚的水泥浇筑而成

Angels in bright green coats

穿着翠绿的外衣

Moss-eaten, furred by mould,

被青苔侵蚀，霉菌覆盖

My sons come with me and stand

我的儿子们和我一起站着

Ceremonious and still

庄重而宁静

Round my table, my desk, my bed.

围着我的桌子、书桌和床。

They do not speak, their tongues

他们不说话，他们的舌头

Are stopped. They cannot touch

僵住了。他们也不能触摸

For their hundreds of fingers were burned

因为他们数百根手指

Years ago in the jets

几年前被喷射的瓦斯

Of gas. Their fingers are smoke.

烧毁。他们的手指是烟

They are more alive than I.

他们比我更有活力

It is hard for me to know

我很难知道

If I love or fear them most.

我到底最爱还是最怕他们

I shall join them in the end.

我终将加入他们的行列