A lily for mothers, good.
An oak tree for fathers, good.
The world sang,
From your heart, springs out the flower, your good mother deserves.
From your heart, springs out the tree, your good father deserves.
The norm rang.
If what they are, plants the seeds, I feel terribly apologetic for what grows in my heart.
For my mother, grows a rose.
For my father, grows a moss.
When the time comes, where I should offer them their harvest, I wonder what kind of face they will make. Will they look around and longingly gaze at the lilies and oaks on the hands of other parents and tell me, why I wasn't like those children who had offered them such or will they realize the wrongs in their hands that planted such.
An apologetic child, I will not remain.
