by Lucy Li ’22
You, my mother, wearing a red dress,
are dancing on the stage of history.
Your hair turns grey;
you become pale and weak.
You’ve been appreciated,
admired by others;
You’ve been frustrated,
bullied by one after another.
You, my mother, breed countless children;
they are all your rising stars.
But now they are addicted to your dress, your glorious sway.
Look into their eyes,
there is blood, ignorance, confusion, war…