Fireworks

Fireworks

The wheat in the chimney

Jumping out from the dark pile of carbon

That wheat sapling was washed by the sunset

leaving only

A pale orange color

A carbon ash darker than the June night

Willingly lying under the blanket

I don't think about the fireworks that are as colorful as the gorgeous evening sun

The hand of the clock is just on the long road

Slowly bouncing

It's just going to be in a lighter than light

far away

I will rest my feet and close my eyes

And then I'll dream of the days when I was a teenager

You probably don't know it yet...

At that time, every dusk

There was a firework in a blue-gray frying pan that blossomed