Presented to Li Yong
When the peng-bird rises on the wind,
there’s only cyclone, ninety thousand miles straight up.
If the wind dies and he falls back down,
he can always rumble back over to the blue Darksea.
My big words seem strange and out of tune,
so everyone laughs coldly at them,
but even Confucius should fear the next generation.
Adults, don’t take us lightly!