I want to paint over the windows on the earth, so that all accustomed to the darkness of the eyes, are used to light. Maybe I was spoiled children fantasy mom I am self-willed I hope Every moment Are as beautiful as the color crayons I hope Able to draw on white paper in the beloved Free draw clumsy Never paint a The eyes of tears Sky One belongs to the sky and leaves the feathers Night and a light green apple I want to draw the next morning Draw the dew Would see the smile Picture of all the young Love without pain Paint my love imagination She has not seen a cloud Her eyes are the color of clear sky She never looked at me Ever, looking at Will not suddenly turn around and go I would like to draw the distant landscape Draw a clear horizon and waves River under the many happy painting Painted hills - Covered with light hair I let them get very close Love them Let every acquiescence Each spring the excitement while quietly Have become a flower birthday I would like to draw the future I have not seen her, can not But know that she is beautiful I painted her autumn coat Painted maple those burning candle and Because I love her a lot of paint And out of the heart Painted wedding Wake up early the next one painting holiday - Tang Zhi against the glass above And northern fairy tale illustrations I was a wayward child Unfortunately, I would like to obliterate all I think the earth Painting over the windows All eyes accustomed to darkness Are used to light I would like to draw the wind Higher than the one painted a big mountain Oriental peoples desire to paint Draw the sea - The voice of immense pleasure Finally, in paper corner I would also like to paint their own Painted a Koala He sat in the dark jungle of Victoria Sitting quietly on a branch Daze He has no home Do not have a heart left in the distance He was only many, many Berries dream And very big eyes I hope Thinking But do not know why I have not received crayons Time did not get a color I only have my My fingers and pain It only tore a picture of Beloved White Them to find the butterfly Let them disappear from today I was a child Mother of a spoiled child is fantasy I am self-willed March 1981