Son: But I see poetry in your eyes. Every smile and gaze, every gentle kiss, has a moving rhythm.
Mom: You grew up slowly, learned to walk, learned to talk, and learned to read. I wanted to write a poem for you, but I didn't start writing it because I couldn't find any sentences that could describe you.
Son: But I see poetry in your expectation. Every word of your exhortation and entrustment, and your careful support are the most tender chapters of a poem.
Mom: Every time I see your progress and your growth and transformation, I want to write a poem for you, but I still haven't started writing, because I have searched all the words, but I can't express my joy.
Son: But I see poetry in your company. Every sleepless night, every moment I stand on the podium, I also want to write a poem for you, but I can't write because those words are too ordinary to compare with you.
Mom: Why did you write me a poem?
Son: I must write a poem for you.
Mom: You, only you, are the most touching poems that the world has given me.
Son: You, and only you, are the poems I want to write most in this world.
Mom (H): I must write a poem for you.
Son (H): I must write a poem for you.
Mom: But I haven't written it yet.
Son: But I can't write after all.
Mom (together): Because you, in my eyes, are a poem.
Son (H): Because you, in my heart, are a poem.