I love this land.
If I were a bird, I would also sing with a hoarse throat: this land hit by the storm, this river of sadness and indignation that will surge on us forever, this restless wind that blows endlessly, And the incomparably gentle dawn from the forest, .................................................................................................................... Why do I often cry? Because I love this land deeply. ...
Second, coral reefs.
A wave, a wave, comes endlessly, every wave is at its feet, broken and scattered ... its face and body are like a knife, but it still stands there, smiling at the ocean. ....
Third, trees
A tree, a tree, independent of each other. Wind and air tell their distance, but under the cover of soil, their roots are growing, and in the invisible depths, they are entangled in their own roots.
Fourth, the pond in winter
The pond in winter is as lonely as the old man's heart-a bitter heart that has experienced the world; The pond in winter is as dry as the eyes of the old man-a pair of shining eyes worn away by hard work; The pond in winter is as barren as an old man's hair, as sparse and gray as frost grass, and as gloomy as a sad old man-an old man hunched his back under a gloomy sky.
Verb (abbreviation for verb) trolley
Where the Yellow River flows, at the bottom of countless dry rivers, the unicycle, with its only wheel, convulses the gloomy sky and germinates cold and silence. From one foot of the mountain to the other, the sadness of the people in the north echoed. On the frozen days, among the poor villages, the unicycle, with its only wheel, painted deep traces on the gray loess layer and crossed the vast desert.