Passing through the old land

Passing through the old land

Passing through endless reed fields.

The laughter of children echoed across the sky.

The river's water ebbs and flows.

The village boat carries the sweet melodies of folk songs.

Illustrative image.

Gourd and loofah vines growing over the fence

Still green since the time the fields were planted along the country lane.

There's a cricket crying by the dike.

Calling upon the vast expanse of memories, the road home stretches endlessly.

Listen to the wind blowing across the fields.

There is the fragrant scent of freshly harvested rice from days gone by.

The house is still leaking and getting wet in the rain.

My mother sat sewing, adding and removing stitches, both front and back.

My hometown, barefoot and wearing brown clothes.

The fields and gardens, with their graying hair, still evoke affection.

The humble kitchen still has wisps of smoke lingering.

The spirit of the countryside still lingers with the last vestiges of its seasonal fragrance...

Tran Thuong Tinh

Source: https://baobacgiang.vn/ngang-qua-mien-cu-postid420772.bbg