The Blue Bowl by Isabel Zhang

It lying quietly in the cabinet
Mysterious and full of age
As if it has existed for hundreds of years
Which caused me to open the cabinet countless times
It bathed in the sun
The golden edge forms a harsh reflection
As if saw it that was once mud
The process of erosion in the high temperature of the furnace Wrapped in my arms, the warm temperature is like love from grandma It forgotten on the table
Elegant yet demeanor
Bunches of blue and white flowers at the bottom of the bowl
Will always be covered by red pomegranate
It’s alone in the cold night
Lonely and glamorous
Crystal dew drops on the edge
Shine like a diamond