Poetry soars high, the Empire as a jackal roams,
When the jackal's gone, the crops flourish, full of blooms.
But when the jackal comes, naught but barren soil remains,
No harvest's joy, just sorrow in the plains.
Rifles aimed, the jackal trembles, in fear it's caught,
The jackal as a whore, tigers and leopards as its lot.
Wolves and hyenas connive, in vice they take their stand,
Their evil alliance, a land they brutalize and bland.
@美国驻华大使馆