A poem by Shu Ting, Mother, your pale fingertips caress my temples, I can’t help but hold on to your skirt as tightly as I did when I was a child, Mother, I gradually disappear in order to keep you. Although the morning light has cut the dream into wisps of smoke, I still dare not open my eyes for a long time. I still treasure that bright red scarf, for fear that washing it will make it lose your unique warmth. Oh, mother, isn’t the flow of time equally ruthless? Afraid that my memory will also fade away, how dare I open its screen so easily? For a thorn I once cried to you, but now wearing a crown of thorns, I dare not, not even a groan. Oh, mother, I often look up at your photos sadly. Even though my call can penetrate the loess, how dare I disturb your sleep? I dare not display the gift of love like this, even though I have written many songs, for flowers, for the sea, for dawn. Oh, mother, my sweet and deep yearning is not a torrent, not a waterfall, but an ancient well that cannot sing among the flowers and trees.
In the early 1980s, Shu Ting, a representative figure of misty poetry, wrote many good poems, such as "To the Oak Tree", "Motherland, My Dear Motherland", "Goddess Peak", etc. Today, Mother's Day, I recommend her to all bloggers. "Oh, Mother". I think blogger friends will be deeply moved after reading it. I read this poem over and over again more than 20 years ago. Reading it again today, I still have full respect for the poet