He would describe,
his middle school life is colourless.
A child tries his best to chase a kite,
can do nothing but watch it flee to the sky.
Years after I can tell him,
the colour of gold hides
under the cold-silver starlight.
The past will not be here again,
but if going back,
Can you see the butterflies flying
in the sunshine,
as well as on a snowy night
of only black and white?
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