Every lovely and gentle spray,
It became a mountain that suddenly rose and then collapsed.
Every drop of seawater changes color,
As beautiful as blue;
The vortex is entangled in the vortex,
Ah! The fact is simple:
I'm destined to meet them often,
Because my name is boat;
Fear will only make you blind,
Blindness can only exaggerate the ferocious face of the devil;
As long as I have a complete keel,
Never sail into a sheltered harbor;
I'm completely free,
The bow became a shovel to bury them;
I jumped rhythmically in the waves,
It's like swinging on a huge swing.
Even if they finally tore me apart,
Turn into some wood chips;
Future generations will recognize me on the fragments,
Future poets will sigh:
? -Excerpted from Poems of Birch Tree by People's Literature Publishing House.