sand
The sun shines on a white beach, and our footprints are printed on the beach. We walked by the river, and the river rippled in the wind. We called for the ferry, but the sound was blown away by the wind.
hope
Dream friends and fantasy sisters are all their own shadows, but they always walk in front of you, invisible like light and unstable like wind. There is always a distance between her and you, like birds outside the window, like clouds in the sky, like butterflies by the river, cunning and beautiful. If you go up, she will fly away and ignore you. She will always be with you.
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 surges on us, this angry wind that blows endlessly, 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. ...
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.