Neighbor with the nightingale
It is eulogizing, with a little blood in its mouth.
And I, in my wilderness.
Stumbling to sow words.
Long for flowers to bloom one day.
Although it is a poor pen.
And some crumpled manuscript paper
An old table.
Just like my life.
I don't know where to go.
I have the impulse to write to myself.
But I don't know where to send it.
Who will sing a sad song for me?
Just like my world.
The nightingale didn't stop.
Who is it for?
Use my life to eulogize.
Until the last drop of blood?
Those barren moonlight
No matter how hard you try.
It won't light up either.
Such a cold night
Where is my most precious youth?
Why is cold always forced?
Those ruthless marauders
Cream on the sideburns
Light calculation
The wind holds a petal.
Run around the world
It seems that he is still singing a victory song.
I get angry, too.
But don't be silent.
Tonight
belong to me
Eager modern poetry II. Spring wind
With the drums of the spring rain.
It is green and red outside the window.
Willow dance in spring breeze.
Sing in spring
Kites are flying in the air.
In the spring morning, I woke up carefree.
So it's not my wind.
Summer wind
Give people comfort and ease.
Everyone pursues the coolness of the wind.
Looking for the wind.
But it hasn't reached the temperature to relieve the heat.
Do not participate, indifferent.
There is no fun in enjoying cool air.
Still not my wind
Autumn wind
A maple leaf floated from the window.
Although red is lovely.
But its life is over.
Too lazy to appreciate it.
Had to stuff the garbage in.
Autumn wind brings the fragrance of fruit.
The banker's joy hung on his face.
Unfortunately, I am not a god of death.
This is not my wind at all.
Winter wind
Whistling and screaming, stinging
Only snow is flying all over the sky.
Only in the mountains of Hanmeiqiao
I am afraid of cold and thick clothes.
I can't get out of this hole.
There can be no winter breeze.
After all, it's not my wind.
There are many winds in the world.
The breeze never lets me down.
Said it was hard for my house to stay in the wind.
Said my doors and windows were facing in the wrong direction
You can only knock on enough paper.
Just pass by the door.
Come here occasionally.
Or the shuttle.
The wind I long for
Not in spring, summer, autumn and winter.
Not on the ground
Not in the sky
The wind I want
Know that I am in my heart
No matter how warm the chest is
Still with a sieve.