Once upon a time,
I began to write poetry.
Opening a piece of poetry paper as narrow as a field border,
was like opening Van Gogh’s shabby The drawing board,
using the pen as a hoe,
is full of green crow characters.
The word "crow" is as small as a green konjac, but I covet to be able to make a big pit out of the earth.
As time passes,
Please do not turn over my dusty collection of poems,
Do not chew the language of konjac,
Do not laugh,
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Show off on the cultural table,
How you used gluttony and cruel methods to bite Konjac's transparent heart.