Poetry, written by Shu Ting.

Not "ah, mom" but "ah, mom". Mother Author: Shu Ting, your pale fingertips caress my sideburns. I can't help but hold on to your skirt as I did when I was a child. My mother tried to keep your disappearing figure. Although the morning light has cut my dream into wisps of smoke, I still dare not open my eyes for a long time. I still have that bright red scarf, for fear that washing it will give it your unique warmth. My mother's flowing years are also strange and heartless, and I'm afraid my memory will fade. How dare I just open its screen? I cried to you for a thorn. Now I wear Jing's crown and dare not sigh. Mom, I often look up at your photos sadly. Even if I call for penetrating the loess, how dare I disturb your rest? I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this. Although I have written many songs for flowers, the sea and the dawn, my sweet and deep thoughts are not torrent, mother.