Lori's poems

As follows:

They are different people!

The green bus platform pillars are intertwined with the golden light of the sunset at dusk. It's past five o'clock. It's rush hour. From a distance, there was a surge of dark tide on the platform, and I was always worried that someone would be pushed down on the road. Although I was reluctant, I walked to the platform.

Look at this group of people, most of them are well dressed, and some of them are dressed simply, but they are also very comfortable. They continued to scan, and only three particularly conspicuous people stared at my eyes: they were wearing blue workers' clothes and a yellow hat on their heads. After dusting their clothes, there may be dust in the air, but somehow, their clothes look clean.

The most attractive thing is not their clothes, but others playing with their mobile phones. They just closed their eyes. Maybe they are really tired after a day's work, or maybe they don't want others to see their hands like dead leaves. What kind of hands are they? They are full of cracks, and they are afraid that they will suddenly break at the slightest touch.

These hands are used to numerous violent collisions with bricks and cold iron cars filled with cement on the construction site. Maybe a few months ago, these hands were still doing farm work in the distant fields. Perhaps these hands took a thin stack of red paper full of painstaking efforts from the contractor, or maybe they picked up the starving baby in the stroller after returning home and gently wiped away the tears on the tender face. This is really a greatness different from this era.

Suddenly, I was driven by the surging crowd. What happened? Busy looking into the distance, the bus is waiting for the traffic lights at the intersection, but the people here can't wait, and they all rush to the front of the platform, trying to get on the bus before others, and I am also moved.

Eyes swept away, I found three workers still standing in the same place, just silently watching the crowd here, not wanting to join the team at all. Maybe it's because the fierce crowd crushed their hands like dead leaves, or it's because of good intentions in their hearts that they want to give up their seats to others. Being squeezed into the bus, looking out of the window, three people slowly followed the crowd on the bus.

There must be many people like them in the world, but isn't this world so beautiful and warm because of their otherness?