Day 8: I'm not a writer

I'm not a writer:

I only pick bright stars

shining in my mother's eyes

and place them on my notebook.

A constellation of words.

.

I'm not a writer,

I just steal ripe cherries

from a colossus's orchard

and paint with them a poem.

A song of lustful yearning.

.

I'm not a writer,

I collect maidens' tears

weaved in a soldier's coat

and sew them in a war hymn.

A sorrowful memento.

.

I'm not a writer,

I water white flowers

growing in grandmother's grave,

and blow petals in the air.

A fairy granting wishes.