In ancient places

Walking along the path my mother walked, past the rice paddies where the winter-spring rice crops were just beginning to mature, where my father sat, the flower pots in their blooming season stretched before the distant, past seasons of war.

Vast stretches of road ahead
It's no longer than the memories that remain.
about the burning forests
on your lips and mine
A smile greener than hair
Those youthful days of being in your twenties again.

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/tren-nhung-chon-xua-3152639.html