Text/Manguqiao
I rode a bicycle and promised to race with the moon.
The moon is curved like a small boat.
It is too playful, hanging on the willow branches for a while, and hanging in front of the window for a while.
When hanging on the willow branches, I invited the beauty to come at dusk.
When hung in front of the window, it makes wanderers miss their hometown.
The moon is round, like a wheel.
It can finally race me seriously.
There is light in its heart, illuminating the way forward.
I am getting farther and farther away from it, and the light is getting fainter.
It ran very fast and disappeared deep into the night.