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that belongs to my own whilst the comprehension towards everything 

still stands. Poetry does not, either, have to own a complete ending or a 

complicatedly tricky storyline. Poetry itself is the third eye of life, one 

that is capable of seeing an even more realistic side of things. Therefore, 

poets do have their own ways of understanding the world, and mine 

would be "The Flower Lives with the Evil." 

I once wrote a lyric that I am very proud of whilst travelling on the Tai Lake： 

A Trip to Spirit Mountain 

Fragrant for ten miles are the osmanthus flowers,
Blooming too early are the loquat fruits. 
Sweet tastes the puffer, 
Tender is the flesh of herring, 
The fish of saury is rare. 
The juice of sourness, 
Is sucked lightly through the golden legs of the mitten crabs. 
The hairy crabs with sponges, 
Are feeling just right on the tip of tongues. 
Invited to the river Dongpo should be with me, 
To drink wine and to drive away annoyance. 

The sun of red colour Is shaded by the mountains behind the fogs. 
The knowledge of Buddhism is gained, 
So that the whole world is seen to be tiny . 
Smiling I kneel down to the bronze statue,