The Serious Hair

不小心把时空写成云烟。
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I could be the "child-head poised with the serious hair"
Every losing hair fights to write a few lines of poem
Whether sighing over withering flowers or bending willows
they try to make up the lost of sentiment and seasons of memory
Otherwise without them from now on
the roots that were uplifted from a thinking head
still poise unseen and withering themselves

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