Praise to the police: although there is no smoke and gunfire, there is a sword and shadow. Although they rarely reunite with their families, they are often concerned about social stability and peace. With full sincerity and sincere dedication to fire, they walked through the spring, summer, autumn and winter with persistent and tenacious steps, patrolling, checking, chasing and arresting. You hate evil, bravely come forward to help and serve the masses. You sweat like rain to show your gentleness. In the storm, you are full of lofty sentiments. At night, you continue to write with passion and no regrets, jumping with the colors of youth, singing the grandeur of life, inheriting the oath of love and interpreting a wonderful life.
Praise the poem recited by the people's police for you. People's police: You may not like flowers, but I'm going to weave a wonderful flower with flowers today. You may not like poetry. Today I am determined to compose a magnificent myth with poetry. In the face of your glorious course, count your colorful police flowers, I don't know how to express it. I don't know how to express it to make myself clear. I face too much of your life and death, too much of your killing. I don't know how to sum up your brilliance inside and outside. You are a navigation beacon in disaster, a gorgeous rosy glow in warmth, a banner fluttering in the wind in danger, and a warm hometown in life. Being a policeman is inseparable from swords and shadows, from sandstorms, from adventure and from crawling.