We often look forward to that day:
A group of little fans of flowers and birds are falling into the clouds.
Shopping in front of each gate;
A group of stars jumped down,
Hanging on every tree and shining;
A group of little angels are holding flower baskets,
Scatter petals from the sky
In the June sunshine,
Please look at the smiling faces of each of us:
Round, sweet, naive and beautiful.
In the rain and dew in June,
Flowers stretch green leaves
Let the crystal notes shine.
Flowers, we are flowers laughing:
Overflowing fragrance,
The fragrance permeates every road.
Change the color,
Like a rosy cloud spreading out,
Colorful tomorrow!
swan
Gomai
I am faced with a smoky scene.
Mirrors can be called faithful friends for many years.
I dreamed that he told me in his dream.
My Scorpio is a prostrate swan.
His dream is illuminated by the truth of my poems and tends to perish.
So those scenes also suit my dream.
I dreamed of my poem in my dream.
In my own handwriting, there are geese like cotton.
A swan floats on the calm water.
Shiny feathers, bright words in the dark
My poems are covered with the dust that classics should have.
Its gorgeous appearance will be sung by future generations.
When I read it out loud, I dare to say it.
The swan swings with its beautiful wings.
My poems have no trace until they disappear.
The lines are completely hidden, but not clear.
The poem in the dream: What did you tell me?
It once flashed in my mind like a comet.
Eternity is not suitable for display, and thinking is not suitable for telling.
The swan in my poem flutters its wings and flies to the distant abyss.
In addition to dreams, my poems no longer exist.
Swan also belongs to the unrealized dream of the previous generation.
What we seek in language day and night is not the essence of swans.
It just flashed through my dreams as fragments of flowers.
youth
Author: Xi Murong
All endings have been written.
All the tears have also flowed out.
I suddenly forgot what kind of beginning this was.
On that ancient summer day that is gone forever.
No matter how hard I pursue it,
Young you are just passing by.
And your smiling face is shallow.
Gradually disappeared into the mist after sunset.
Then open the yellow title page.
Fate has bound it badly.
I looked at it again and again, with tears in my eyes.
But I have to admit.
Youth is a book that is too hasty.
On the night of forty-five.
Suddenly I remembered her young eyes.
Think of the summer when she was sixteen.
Walking slowly towards him from the hillside.
The sunshine outside the forest is dazzling.
Her skirt is so white.
Remember that hill full of tea trees?
A cloudy sky
And cicadas in my ears.
In the silent forest
I love tonight.
Look back at the mountain road when you come.
Only to find that our days are over.
In a completely different way
I have been here and gone.
A vision so enthusiastically planned.
Such a blueprint drawn carefully and accurately.
I was so eager for youth.
But always
Never been here.
rain
.
Author: Julia 2008-11-10
.
At night, you knock on my door,
With a cold wind!
.
I don't ask who you are,
You started crying again!
.
hello ...
Cute,
I was born,
I've never seen you happy,
Every time,
This makes me so sad!
.
Why,
You got my poem wet,
Crushed stationery;
I don't hate you. ...