The composition focuses on poetry, wax theory and tree theory.

I am by no means a caged bird. If I can, I want to be an eagle soaring in the sky. Looking up, the ideal I want is in the higher sky. Even if there is a lot of wind and rain, isn't this life more passionate? I am not a grain of sand in a stream. If I can, I would like to be an angular stone and let myself roll endlessly in the waves of the Nile, even if I will eventually become a piece. Smooth pebbles, but at least I have experienced the impact of waves. I just don't want to be cared for by a stream without passion. I am not a grass under a big tree. If I can, I would like to be a Populus euphratica on the Gobi Desert. I still hold my mother's land tightly. I will also hold my withered arm high and point to the blue sky. If you see my dry body lying in the desert, please don't think I'm dead. It is a poem that struggles with fate.