The only thing that never dies is actually the earth itself. Centenarians still love the chirping of insects, and thousand-year-old spruce trees keep listening. And whether it is winter or summer, or spring and autumn, the old sound remains the same, and the old insect has passed away. The eternity of human poetry is the perfect embodiment of false emptiness, while the immortality of natural poetry is the belief in fighting against death! Each of Grasshopper's poems tells the earth that the descendants of our descendants will come again if they are infinitely poor! Every cricket song tells the sky that I am here despite the snow and cold in winter! Poetry echoes in the four seasons, heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know. The earth takes this poem as its own, but heaven does not support it. This is also the wealth that belongs to heaven. The sky responds to the earth with a blizzard: shameless! You and I are watching from the sidelines, recalling the ecstasy of our childhood when we recognized snow as candy, and use another sense to clearly tell us the other side of the ecstasy: it's just a little sweet. Today, we don’t know how to eat sweets. Are we mature? Or is it a message closer to death? When the insects sing poetry, it is definitely not that I think, therefore I am, but that I think, therefore I am. Just like the relative eternity of the earth, it gives the poetry of resurrection from the dead an illusion of never dying. All things can actually compose poetry, and the earth does not hold many surprises. And there is an idiot poet in the world, proudly showing off his word building blocks, trying to tell us the meaning of life.
We should laugh at him, because he is asking for trouble: the poetry of the earth never dies, and it also contains the efforts of your and my life!