Born and raised, I think I was meant to be.
Belong to the countryside
Just like the old locust tree at the entrance to the village, it is wrinkled.
Still drinking dusk in meditation
It is always hard to erase from my heart. It follows my mother's white hair.
Floating together
The fire in the kitchen pond turned my mother's face into a gully.
It became a bronze statue, solemn, sacred and calm.
Often in the silence of birds returning home
The old cow and I will moan with the sunset.
Along that grassy path.
Crush the land of gold.
I like to smell the soil wholeheartedly.
It's like stroking a Toona sinensis from April
Hold a handful of hometown.
Old cow's breath, father's sweat.
Let the land become the wealth of the cultivators.
In the countryside, I can hear the most beautiful love songs of birds.
In the countryside, I can see the innocence of peach blossom's first love.
In the countryside, I don't have to worry about noise and harassment.
I can always find Hao Yue in the country.
There are so many sincere and simple smiling faces in the countryside.
The fragrance fills my soul.
In this age of poor human nature.
The countryside has taught me how to be a man.
I don't care about so many people, I can't wait
Transport your body and soul out of the country.
I still let my blood flow with the river.
Let a heart take root in the soil and crops at the same time.
Born from the soil, bathed in the soil.
After painting that paragraph, I will close my eyes in the mud forever.
In this life, I will dedicate myself to the melon shed and the bean stand.
I, a naked child who tears at the sight of the land.
Destined to belong to the village that will never leave.
2006、3、2 1
Village chronicle
( 1)
Dirt. Leaves. Childhood village
It's a fresh morning
Whose whisper cooked fragrant rice in the dream?
The venue is very small. Like a folded gold ingot
Can't hold a lover's smile, can't hold a bumper harvest granary.
Yao Jie, who gouges out wild vegetables, urges autumn.
Right there. She was caught in a storm. Who took it?
Her fast food and a small bag in her arms.
Yellow and green bristlegrass. Sickle is just an excuse to kill her.
(2)
Food and shelter are fried one by one.
Meatballs began to hurt after watching the river all winter.
The fallen leaves in the snow are ground into coarse grains.
In the sun, mother basks in the sun in the yard.
Ma Bao was wet by the rain.
A few sparrows poked their heads out under the eaves.
Foraging. Maybe they think this is food.
The parents of two dogs started fighting again.
For the number I couldn't buy last night
A newly built road to prosperity at the entrance of the village leads to the cliff.
Below is a wooden bridge made of three bamboos.
Many people venture to go there on foot. The days of spring ploughing
The fields are deserted. Villagers squatting in the fields
Talk about the trend of the Mark Six lottery tonight.
The night two dog committed suicide by taking poison.
Two dog put a piece of pig iron.
Hanging under the old coconut tree at the entrance of the temple.
Late at night. Close your eyes. It always feels like a wake-up call.
Time: Southern Song Dynasty
Author: Xin Qiji
Works: Qingping Music
Content: rural residence
The thatched roof of the hut is low and small, and the stream is covered with green grass.
Drunk and charming,
Who has white hair?
The big-eared hoe fights west and east,
Zhong Er is knitting a chicken coop.
I like children and scoundrels best,
Lying on the stream peeling lotus flowers.
7. Xiuzhu Village
Grandma in the country,
My family lives by the river.
I only smell cuckoo when I go out.
There are paths in the forest.
The green bamboo garden behind the house,
The buttonwood tree in front of the house.
My cousin took my hand,
Catch fish by the river.
8. A midsummer night in Taoyuan
Adults shake the cattail leaf fan,
Children catch dragonflies.
Cicada sing freely in that tree,
Whether you listen or not.
Talking about what happened in the world,
Free and relaxed.
Lay down with hemp fiber,
Count the stars in the sky.
Memories of rural poetry
Noon sunshine
Light up the green leaves on the tree
warm braw
Flip the girl's skirt under the tree.
A tall goat with hair like snow.
In the beating light, swaggering.
This ancient tomb has been rediscovered.
The light of the glazed lamp lingered among the onlookers.
The blue slate, which smells of copper, was unintentionally carved by the children.
Behind the sunset is dusk.
At dusk, the bell of the oil seller disappeared at the entrance of the village.
Village entrance. Under that old pagoda tree forever.
Birds are singing everywhere and people are singing.
The smoke from grandpa white beard's hookah.
Smoked out a sad legend.
I remember that night many years ago, you were wearing a moonlight shirt.
It's from here, towards the distance
Later, I never came back.
Heartbroken guy, really heartbroken.
Oh, my God is far away.
It's not very blue anymore.
cowboy
Fold an iris after the rain.
Take home