Mother
My mother is a seamstress.

The threads in the bobbin of the sewing machine,

which keep spinning for her entire life,

could tie the whole globe and cease its rotation.

The sewing machine is her soul,

the scent of the fabric is her life.

If we are able to sense the textile,

we could still carry on with our lives.

If the machinery still growls as days pass by,

I will be able to go to school and get educated like others do.