Pass by a field like this
Spring dies once a day
This is not like what the philosopher said
The meaning of life is the start of death
Regardless of the Yin and Yang,
The collocation seems like the metaphor of nothing
Started from the ground
Crossed through the hard red lava
The first fresh leaf in the morning entered your ears
With the spring thunder
Just hear the singing of cuckoo
Can’t find the trace of wings