Mobo Ballad

The childhood hometown that cannot be returned, the spiritual distance that cannot be reached, let words record the past of youth and give some spiritual food to future generations. I will never forget the meadow where pigs, horses, geese and sheep were grazed, remember the industrious appearance of my parents and fellow villagers, and the absurdity caused by backward and closed-minded ideas. The appearance of the mark of the times in the small village, the unforgettable rural interesting things, are like waves in the long river. I cannot let them drift away in the curling smoke. I pack them into my backpack and share them with the world all the time. Recording is to commemorate, not to forget, and to be mentally stronger.