I like the way you get old.

I like the way you get old, a gust of wind, a leaf.

Anyone can testify that it's calm and the leaves are unpleasant.

Your old face is the imprint of years, sweat and tears.

I won't allow anyone to be biased against you and insult you.

Every wrinkle of yours is a wave of love for me, and it will get wider and wider until it calms down, disappears into the world and becomes a soul.

Your bent back is my childhood crotch, and it is the backbone that I can look up to the world higher. I like it, and it hurts.

Your trembling hands are dead leaves everywhere, anxious to return.

I'm afraid, you are the maple leaf that turns into soil.

You gave me the motivation to live with milk, I am growing up happily, and you are getting old.

You supported my weak body with your arms, I grew up naughty, and you gradually lost your strength.

You built a whole family with your body and hands and raised me. I grew up in rebellion, and you are no longer young.

I grow up, and you are old.

But I like you like this.

I respect and love you. I respect the law of life and fear the power of nature.

You said "fallen leaves return to their roots".

I understand that life and death are irreversible, and love and hate are indifferent.

I think, in the next few decades, like you, I will eventually

Fallen leaves return to their roots.