A poem <br/><br/><br/>A wanderer’s stick is the broom in my mother’s hand. <br/>My grandfather has wandered all around the word, <br/>sweeping. <br/>Stooping. <br/><br/>The whole village’s planting carrots in the fields. <br/>Glimmering oil lamp. The calmness’ <br/>crying. <br/>Trembling. <br/><br/>The countryside’s fool on a meter high box. <br/>Dialing on a plate. A child is <br/>waking. <br/>Laughing.