Carved on my heart,
The long river of time,
Never wash away a trace of color.
Like flowers in the yard pond,
When I saw it,
A quarrelsome heart is quiet,
The closed heart opened.
The wind blows the delicate flowers,
Rough becomes subtle,
Chaos becomes order,
An oasis grew out of the desolation.
(Draft of 2021April 14? Daughter's birthday present)