Original poetry-
Mother's phone
It seems that I was stung by a bee with honey.
It seems to be submerged by the river in my hometown.
I am like a blade of grass.
Floating in the March sun.
That's my mother thousands of miles away.
Tap lightly
I am tired and dirty.
There is no other kind of music.
Let the world be so quiet
I heard you. I
Eye movement
The slow-moving sound of tears