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Updated: Jul 16, 2023

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her hair is that of a raven’s wing,

dark as a starless night sky.

her eyes are drops of ink on a canvas,

unknowing of what the end might be.

her skin shines like moonlight,

pale as its milky hue.

her wrinkles speak of secrets,

depicting a life of laughter and tears-

both joy and pain,

both peace and sorrow.

and her words,

her words can weave webs of life;

stories of both past and present,

stories of both young and old.

i call her 엄마 [mother].


Editors: Claudia S., Leila W.


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