Articles and poems in amusement parks

I am a wayward child, written by Gu Cheng in March, 198 1.

I am a wayward child.

I want to paint windows all over the world.

Let all eyes accustomed to darkness get used to light.

perhaps

I am a child spoiled by my mother.

I am very self willed

I hope

Every moment.

As beautiful as colored crayons.

I hope

You can draw on your beloved white paper.

Freedom to paint clumsily.

Draw the next picture Never.

With tears in my eyes

A piece of sky

A feather and leaf belonging to the sky.

Light green night and apples

I want to draw the morning.

Draw dew

The smile you can see.

Draw all the youngest

Love without pain

Draw an imaginary picture

My lover

She has never seen a cloud.

Her eyes are the color of a clear sky.

She always looks at me.

Forever, watch

Never turn around suddenly.

I want to paint the distant scenery.

Draw a clear horizon and water waves

Draw many happy rivers.

Painting mountains—

Full of fuzzy fluff

I put them together.

Let them fall in love.

Let every acquiescence

Every quiet spring is exciting.

Turned into a little flower's birthday.

I also want to paint the future.

I haven't seen her, and I can't.

But I know she is beautiful.

I drew her autumn clothes.

Draw those burning candles and maple leaves

I paint a lot because I love her.

Extinguished heart

Hua wedding

Draw an early-rising festival-

There is cellophane on it.

And illustrations of northern fairy tales

I am a wayward child.

I want to erase all my misfortunes.

I think on earth

Draw all the windows

Let all eyes get used to the darkness.

Accustomed to the light

I want to paint a style.

Draw a mountain higher than the last one.

Draw the desire of the oriental nation

Draw the sea—

Endless sweet sound

Finally, in the corner of the paper

I want to paint myself, too

Draw a koala

He sat in the dark jungle of Victoria.

Sitting on a quiet branch

stare blankly

He has no home.

There is no heart in the distance.

He only has, a lot.

Berry dream

And big eyes.

I hope

think

But somehow,

I have no crayons.

Don't get a color moment.

I only have me.

My fingers and pain.

Just shredded pieces.

Beloved white paper

Let them find butterflies.

Let them disappear from today.

I'm still a kid.

A child spoiled by an imaginary mother

I am very self willed