Looking Back at Mountains After Mountains
by Rui Wang
Threads through mother’s fingers one by one, they were stitched into my long long robe
There’s a red-feathered crane on my robe, flying over thousands of gold pine hills
Nostalgia is twined into the threads. While looking back, there are mountains after mountains
The camellias in my hometown should be blooming now, across hundreds of little stone bridges
There’s a red-feathered crane on my robe, flying over thousands of gold pine hills
The wind blows my thin sleeves slowly up to the sky. Looking at the way back, I sigh and sigh
The camellias in my hometown should be blooming now, across hundreds of little stone bridges
Wind, could you please stop pulling my robe. My way ahead is still far and far
The wind blows my thin sleeves slowly up to the sky. Looking at the way back, I sigh and sigh
I think of mother’s words late at night. She must be looking towards here at this time
Wind, could you please stop pulling my robe. My way ahead is still far and far
Glistening tears freeze into pearls. I can’t help but stop in the firefly’s glow, standing still and still
I think of mother’s words late at night. She must be looking towards here at this time
Threads through mother’s fingers one by one, they were stitched into my long long robe
Glistening tears freeze into pearls. I can’t help but stop in the firefly’s glow, standing still and still
Nostalgia is twined into the threads. While looking back, there are mountains after mountains
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