pingtu style, illustration-fen, I sit inconspicuously in a tree in the foliage. Filling my life with meaning, spinning my thin thread. There are many of us in the tree. And spins its own thread. And the seas are filled to the brim with drops, And the stones are joined by grains of sand, Eternity must be such a long time. I have only my tiny contribution, In my short life I can weave A thread of silk. Some people get caught in the web of religion, Some rave about aliens from Mars, I spin my own delicate thread. Some discover the mystery of the universe. Some struggle with the hardness of stone, I spin my own thread. I can't do anything else. The world is a crazy place that whizzes by. And we create with our own hands Weightless, delicate fabrics Beauty is tangible