A short poem entitled "Time flies"

when flowers fall and bloom, how many romantic years have passed before the flowers are first seen, sighing that the scenery is old.

Can I have a look at the collected works of the landlord?

I don't know the content of the landlord's anthology, so I have to write it according to my own speculation.

fleeting time

When the last touch of green maple leaves slips from the fingertips

There is a withered loneliness in the soil where memories are buried

Like an hourglass, the picture that belongs to us unconsciously is drowned by fleeting time

The colorful chapters in the story

will smile to see the flowers bloom, solve the doubts and walk through the most beautiful season

with a sense of anxiety.