The opera pink morning glory, Undeterred by the heat, Lifts its head, Soaks up the sun's blessings With its whole body. It stretches its vines, And grows its leaves, Creating a gentle shade. It quickly closes its flowers, As if content to have the morning all to itself. The first baker in the morning, The newspaper deliverer, The father who returns home in the morning, The morning glory embraces me with a generous smile. These gentle images bring a warmth of relief to my heart. In the early hours of the morning, the air is crisp and clear, the sounds of sparrows chirping, the sweet smell of baking bread, the sound of bicycle pedals, and the morning breeze that suggests another hot day. After spending the morning first thing in the morning, the morning glories quickly close their flowers as if to say they're satisfied. Their gentle memories bring a warmth of relief to my heart.
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