We let heart grow in spiritual homeland, also feel sorrow here. The primal reason is, sure, usually is pain, such as fire, such as awn of wheat saturated with sunlight, such as eternal parting; such as our ideas with the pouring of all aspirations, such as lonely horse, such as the memory of wind and rain at some instant of some year, such as we lifting up arms for something, yet without response, and then we put arms down. Supposing that a mournful elegant poem has six layers of space, then, the first layer is the earth, the second layer is dust, the third is cloud, the forth is the sky, the fifth is the pain of soul going beyond life and death, the sixth is our upward looking divinity in spiritual homeland for long.

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