Modern poetry about plants

Sunflower Green Garden Sunflowers in Huang Cancan are as conspicuous as a small golden sun petal and eyes. You are not as noble as peony, nor as charming as Chinese rose. You are special, always facing the sun. No matter how many storms it experiences, as long as there is sunshine, it will hold its head high. Little Sunflower, I love you more ..............................................-tree frost by the window (US 1874- 1963) The tree by my window, the tree by the window, I close the window when night falls; But never close the curtains, lest you and I be separated. You are a hazy dream shadow rising on the ground. You are as erratic as a floating cloud. Everything you preach loudly with your light tongue is not profound. But tree, I saw the wind shaking you. If you catch a glimpse of me sleeping in this room, you will see that I was violently stirred and almost swept by the storm. On that day, fate was a child's play, which linked us together: you were influenced by the external climate and I was stimulated by the internal wind and rain. ———————————————————————— When you know a little flower from beginning to end, you know God and man. Tennyson All plants are a lamp, and fragrance is its light. Hugo, please wash the body of my life with wine, wrap me with grape leaves and bury me at the edge of the garden. -EU MAR Khayyam "Sambayi" Blackberry is as big as my thumb, as dumb as black eyes in a hedge, swollen with purple juice. They wasted all this on my fingers. I have never asked for this kind of sister blood; They must love me very much. -Sylvia Plath's "Picking Blackberries" The rain Borges suddenly became bright at dusk, because Rorschach was raining in Mao Mao or had already fallen. Rain is undoubtedly a thing of the past. Anyone who hears the rain will recall that time. Happy fate gave him a flower named rose, which has a wonderful bright red color. The drizzle covering the window glass will definitely abandon 7A68696416FE4B893E5B19E3133433626434 in a yard in the suburbs, and clean the black grapes on the shelves. . . A pine tree stands alone on a dry mountain in the north of Heine, surrounded by snow and ice, and falls asleep. It dreamed of a palm tree in the far east, alone on the hot rock, and it was silently sad. When you understand a little flower from beginning to end, you understand God and man. Tennyson All plants are a lamp, and fragrance is its light. Hugo, please wash the body of my life with wine, wrap me with grape leaves and bury me at the edge of the garden. -EU MAR Khayyam "Sambayi" Blackberry is as big as my thumb, as dumb as black eyes in a hedge, swollen with purple juice. They wasted all this on my fingers. I have never asked for this kind of sister blood; They must love me very much. -Sylvia Plath's "Picking Blackberries" The rain Borges suddenly became bright at dusk, because Rorschach was raining in Mao Mao or had already fallen. Rain is undoubtedly a thing of the past. Anyone who hears the rain will recall that time. Happy fate gave him a flower named rose, which has a wonderful bright red color. The Mao Mao rain covered with window glass will definitely illuminate the black grapes on the shelves of an abandoned suburb in a yard that no longer exists. . . A pine tree stands alone on a dry mountain in the north of Heine, surrounded by snow and ice, and falls asleep. It dreamed of a palm tree in the far east, alone on the hot rock, and it was silently sad. When you understand a little flower from beginning to end, you understand God and man. Tennyson All plants are a lamp, and fragrance is its light. Hugo, please wash the body of my life with wine, wrap me with grape leaves and bury me at the edge of the garden. -EU MAR Khayyam "Sambayi" Blackberry is as big as my thumb, as dumb as black eyes in a hedge, swollen with purple juice. They wasted all this on my fingers. I have never asked for this kind of sister blood; They must love me very much. -Sylvia Plath's "Picking Blackberries" The rain Borges suddenly became bright at dusk, because Rorschach was raining in Mao Mao or had already fallen. Rain is undoubtedly a thing of the past. Anyone who hears the rain will recall that time. Happy fate gave him a flower named rose, which has a wonderful bright red color. The Mao Mao rain covered with window glass will definitely illuminate the black grapes on the shelves of an abandoned suburb in a yard that no longer exists. . . A pine tree stands alone on a dry mountain in the north of Heine, surrounded by snow and ice, and falls asleep. It dreamed that a palm tree was on a distant eastern land, alone on a hot rock, and it silently mourned.