This is the cover of a poetry collection.
The yellow-green color has taken on a metallic sheen over time. While losing the feeling of spring, it has acquired a certain language that implies magic. It whispers to the image it holds in its embrace:
Before the delicate roots pull away your umbilical cord,
before the slender and sparse branches and narrow long leaves decompose your body,
before the bell-shaped corolla quietly sings to you, or when your doppelgänger is in a dormant state and its final form is unknown, and you may sway from side to side due to lack of support. The long-term instability makes you lose confidence in growing...
You still have dreams occasionally.
For example, when everything around is in full bloom and lush, the morning glow that does not belong to you is suspended motionlessly on the stagnant water reflecting your bare branches.