A quilt for Lu Ye. You'd better read this poem by Claudia. Thank you~

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a quilt

Mother sewed a quilt for me under the window.

Thread a tired needle through the problematic thread.

I sat askew on the bed and put my feet on the desk.

I am her daughter.

Ten years ago, grandpa went to the market to buy cloth and cotton.

Please ask my aunt to make this quilt.

My aunt is my mother's aunt and my grandmother's sister.

I thought of her sister, who died young when I was threading a needle.

On a foggy morning, grandpa was holding a new quilt.

Arrive in the city one step ahead of winter.

At that time, I was in love and was very cold to my family.

Grandpa died at the end of the year before last.

His concern for me is a quilt.

Left it on the earth.

Cotton is good, white, kind and kind.

That is the traditional virtue of quilts.

The wild chrysanthemums on the cloth are in full bloom.

Now trapped in nostalgia, leaves and petals look a little painful.

I put my face on the quilt.

Next to me are the dead and elderly relatives.

Next to it are the 24 solar terms and the earth's temperature.

It smells like grandma, grandpa, aunt and mom.

How soft and long-lasting is the love of matriarchal family.

I am the child that everyone misses most.