My diary on the sea coast

My Diary on the Seaside 

It was hard to pass into the valley,
In the trap of hills, the magnets fallen there.
Each has an attraction as lodestone pulls over,
I have known the place since my visit,
On the icy land, it seems to be hard to do.
In every moment, my knuckles are grazed by frostbite,
To strengthen the biting stress in life's race.
It is my diary stitched in the mind with rock salts,
In the cooking utensils, mixed with meadow.
Rather than moving on to the electric strips,
For overcoming the hurdles of the mind among risks,
Underneath the stretched roots of the trees.
In the dark ocean bars of the shark, angrily tethering,
For grasping all the enemies at a glance, 

As if Saturn and Jupiter are facing together to banish,
From the earth and water in the deep ocean of the Atlantic.
Like the sweet voice in the dreams of a lady,
Who are unmarried but are immersed in the moon,
My diary supplements messages to do something.
For the meadow upon the soil where nature flourishes,
Day and night, to grow lively leaves of the plants,
To produce shades of peace everlasting hereinafter.