If I were a bird,
I should also sing with a hoarse throat:
This land hit by the storm,
This river of sadness and anger will surge forever,
The angry wind kept blowing,
And the tender dawn from the forest. ...
And then I died,
Even feathers rot in the ground.
Why do I often cry?
Because I love this land deeply. ...
The poet compares himself to a bird, singing with a hoarse throat about the land hit by the storm, the angry river, the angry wind and the gentle dawn. Express your love for this land in the form of metaphor. The latter paragraph suddenly broke out, expressing one's feelings directly and pushing the whole poem to a climax in vain. Poetry is like this. When emotions are boiling, there is no need to express them with external images. It's like the water drops in summer stagnate to a critical point, and the rainstorm will burst its banks naturally, so there is no need for Yun Ni's phantom!
I hit it with my hand.
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