It stole the silent moon of the night and hung on my bed to accompany me to sleep.
In the morning, a ray of sunlight shone on my window, pushing away the weight of the night.
Whoever, dew from the autumn chrysanthemums, fell at my desk and slept with me all night counting the stars.
Who kisses me every night until dawn? When I'm hurt and shed tears of pain, who blames myself? Who makes lotus leaves with an ice pen in the rain? My mother.
You are the reinforced concrete arm of a child in an earthquake.
In the face of disaster, you hold your child's arm.
You're not going to rain.
You are the port you want to return from the sea.
But Mom, when am I going to let dandelion seeds fly in the wind and fly into the sky you can't go to? When will I turn into a winged eagle and fly in the blue sky that you can't touch? So you become an immortal statue at the entrance of the village, gazing at the dark road.
Mom, are you waiting for that tired little bird to return to its nest? The child in your arms even holds the kite rope in your hand.
So, my mother's tears turned into rain clouds flying in the sky.
I just want you to think of all your troubles.
The drifters in the distance would get their mother's thoughts and would soon return.
But spring has passed, and autumn has come.
The rain condenses into snowflakes.
The news that travelers from afar will not return is getting late, and the flowers are falling with the tide.
But you still haven't changed your eyes.
You believe that one day a year later, the shadows are always overlapping beneath your feet! Mom, no matter where I go, no matter how my rebellious spirit spreads, one day I will wake up.
The familiar sunshine comes from you.
When it rains, you know you miss your mother's tears.
When I was exhausted in the jungle of the city, I was backpacking my way home, so I was sure I could recognize the shadow of the entrance to the village.
Mom, maybe my footsteps can only go forward.
Maybe my idea can only be given to the birds that return to the nest.
Even at the last moment, I want you to see me and I can kneel before you and repent.
But I know that my soul has never left your warm arms and gentle eyes.
Mom, dear mom, my son is walking in your direction.
The train of life is waiting for you.
Listen quietly to your familiar nursery rhymes, give up your desire for the world, and all the children laugh in your shadow!