Don't write me a poem about Bing Xin's "innocence", "maternal love" and "nature", but a whole, shorter poem.

/kloc-the wall at the angle of 0/30 is blue, and the celestial pole is boundless-that is, one person is in the sky, and four people are one person. We are all born babies lying in the cradle of the universe, children! You can come to my garden and don't pick my flowers-look, the thorn of the rose hurts your hand. The thorn of the rose is the hatred of the climber and her own comfort. Put aside your sadness and let me fall into your arms. Only you are my soul. The sun shone through the cracks in the stone, and the tiny thorn said, "Stick out your head with my strength and liberate your imprisoned self!" " The trunk came out and the hard rock split in two.