When the spider webs emotionlessly covered my furnace
When the smoke of the ashes sighed the sadness of poverty
I still stubbornly lay down the ashes of disappointment
With the beautiful snow, I wrotw down: trust the future

When my purple grapes turned into late autumn's dew
When my fresh flowers snuggled in other people's feelings
I still stubbornly used the frost on the dead vines
Wrote on the cold ground: trust the future

I will use my hand to point to the waves on the horizon
I will use my hand to hold the sea of the sun

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