To the teacher

Use that fiery heart to cultivate the original golden land of one side

Watching the short stick in your hand slowly wear and tear in the endless love, the gray of love in the sky is dyed white, your original black hair will never return.

You have no regrets and no pains to dig on the side of the land with the bitterness of the past, planting your hopes under your watering, the seedlings grow into big trees and dye the green land.

Years have not conquered you, but you have been bent over by the years. You stood for a few decades and you have given us your valuable freedom. You have given us more precious youth but you have not left the trace of regret.

Now, I see that you are irrigated in the garden, the long one you are pulled by the sun, so great, so selfless.

To the teacher

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