Waves, waves, endless. Every wave is at its feet, broken and scattered. Its face and body look like a knife, but it still stands there, smiling at the ocean.
2. I love this land.
If I were a bird, I should also sing with a hoarse throat: this land that was hit by the storm, this river of sadness and indignation that always surged on us, this endless angry wind, and the incomparable gentle dawn from the forest-then I died, and even my feathers rotted in the land. Why do I often cry? Because I love this land deeply.
3. 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-the shining eyes have been worn away by hard work;
The pond in winter is as barren as the old man's hair-as sparse and gray as frost grass.
The pond in winter is as gloomy as a sad old man-an old man hunched his back under the gloomy sky.