A poem describing Sophora japonica: Sophora japonica in May
Author: Laurent
Stepping into May, the grass is green.
Trees shake green waves, birds are like boats.
Soaring in the sea, pushing open the small window of time.
Sophora japonica, touch me
White, light yellow
Rainbow bird, speak softly.
Dew, where does the wind come from?
Who shed tears in May?
So lonely and shining.
May inadvertently
Broke the window and entered the computer desk.
The accumulated fingerprints were softened by the fragrance.
Gradually, when you come, you can't find your way.
Wandering in the stamens
It is said that love gave peach blossom a burning March.
But I came to the high ladder in April.
Stick to that old dream.
I just slipped and May reached out and caught me.
Sunshine and rainstorm alternate.
The sky cried and laughed for a while and just reached the top of the mountain.
Rain and lightning soaked the whole body.
Running towards the valley, the sun smiles in the river again.
I'm confused. Who should I listen to?
Has been calling, on the other side of the locust forest
And the quill pens around them, all holding bright flags.
The blue sky occupied my hut.
And those quiet nests on the branches.
In order to make a living, I keep my distance from a bird.
For the forest, we have harmonious feelings.
Like the best sisters in the world.
Many birds get pregnant in May.
They booked more flights for life.
Like the Robinia pseudoacacia forest, riding the wind.
Kissing the escaping sun.
Poem 2 describes Sophora japonica: Sophora japonica in Yanzi Mountain.
Author: 9288 blog
This is the bottom of the lake where Yanzi Mountain sank into the snow.
It's better to say that Yanzishan put on the clothes of Sophora japonica.
Sophora japonica in Nanshan
Like the waves of the sea.
Boring words.
Like flowing ice cream in spring.
I turned my head to listen.
That buzzing bee
Reciting the Bible like a pious cassock.
I bent down to listen.
Hua's dimples are in that city.
Sweet laughter
One day, Sophora japonica leaves.
Not bow and take a curtain call
I saw the goose yellow drilled from Yanzi Mountain again.
Awaken a hopeful spring.
A poem describing Sophora japonica: Sophora japonica in May
Author: Bin Zhibin
That morning.
blue sky
It's raining. It's still raining.
I ran alone on the road covered with locust trees.
Tired, looking at the bees in the flowers in a daze.
At this point, it's a little cold.
With countless tears of flowers
calmly
Scattered in my wrinkled cracks
To be honest, it makes me feel cold.
Suddenly, I found out
A melancholy bird lies among the flowers.
Braving the rain, silently healing.
Sometimes I pop my eyes and look at the crying flowers.
Still joking
So, I want to laugh but dare not.
Afraid of disturbing everything around her.
only
Hate the wind, but smiled.
Smile more beautifully than the Sophora japonica in May.
Poetry 4 about Sophora japonica: the fragrance of Sophora japonica
Author: Tao Zuo
This old pagoda tree is flourishing.
White as jade, Sophora japonica blooms freely.
Beautiful, lovely, fresh and pleasant.
There are flowers floating in the yard.
I planted this locust tree that year.
Implanted my hope.
I fertilize and water it every year.
It gives me green fragrance every year.
It has my sweat in its blood.
I have its fragrance in my body.
Sophora japonica is infatuated with me.
I miss the locust tree so much.
The spring breeze melts and the rain shines.
The big pagoda tree grows with the small courtyard.
Now the hut has become two floors.
This pagoda tree grows from one meter to two feet.
The leaves have fallen and turned yellow and green.
Life in my family is booming every year.
My son went to town to become a cadre.
The birth of the little grandson brought hope.
It rained pleasantly yesterday.
The old locust tree burst into tears.
Its branches and leaves waved to me in the wind.
Its flowers send me wisps of fragrance.
Huang Yinger in the tree grew up in love for a long time.
Hiding in the leaves is a bit sentimental.
One, two, three, four.
The cries of farewell echoed in my ears.
The old locust tree is entangled in my heart.
I can't get out of the eyes of the old locust tree.
Out of the door, go a long way.
Still reluctant to go, I can't help looking back.