When I return home on a rainy day, a cloth wiper welcomes me at home, "I am a cloth wiper for you," it seems to say, when it didn't become a wipe cloth of its own will. The cloth wiper, in fact, used to be a shirt, until just a week ago, as if it came into this world to kindly wrap me like a skin, when it didn't become a shirt of its own will. Probably, originally, somewhere in America, the cotton smiled brightly at the sun and the warm breath with its flower. |
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