Prose and Poetry When You Are Old 1: When You Are Old Author: Ye Zhi.
When you get old,
Please take it off,
I wrote a poem for you.
Those vows hidden between the lines,
Still in the dust of the years,
Recording first love?
I am waiting for you at the end of time,
The wind blew away the memory of yesterday.
Silver moonlight,
Sprinkle on the winding road we walked,
The phosphorescence of the years began to ripple in the evening breeze.
There was a rustling sound in the distance,
Twisted between heaven and earth.
Your name is mixed with the flute,
Gracefully ups and downs in my mind.
I stood in the opposite corner,
Waiting for you quietly?
When you get old,
Stumbling on the path at dusk,
Tell old stories.
Please allow me to hold your arm,
Take a walk in the herb garden full of petals.
Your bent back,
In the late autumn wind,
Full of fatigue.
The afterglow of the sunset,
Hanging over your elegant posture.
Allow me,
Give you a deep hug again!
My arm,
Without the impulsive passion of youth,
But into the sincere arms,
In the long river of time,
It caused eternal pain.
When you get old,
Eyes that are no longer clear,
Stories of spring, summer, autumn and winter are flowing.
Please allow me to stand by you,
Gaze into your eyes quietly;
Please allow me to look at each other silently,
Read your mind quietly.
Calm eyes,
Drowned years of hard work,
A calm smile,
It is full of every chapter of life.
Pick up the book of poems I read to you when I was young,
In colorful poems,
Life and death parting,
It has become an eternal look back between the moments of youth.
When you get old,
Time has eroded your face.
Allow me to use my trembling hands,
Touch your smashed face;
Please allow me to use gentle language,
Touch your forehead,
After many vicissitudes.
Let me use a singing voice,
Whispering your name.
If a pious soul,
Can drive out of Bai Lianhua,
Turn me into a lotus leaf,
Waiting for your bloom.
When you get old,
On the face after the beauty disappeared,
With the holy light of pilgrims,
Although youth is gone, beauty is blooming.
Please allow me to put the flying dust into the vase of years.
On the moonlit windowsill.
The night wind blows,
Let a good time,
Play it back in my mind over and over again.
Epiphyllum at night,
In the sleeping memory,
I stretched my petals shyly and felt a little tired.
Everything in the world,
Lost its luster in the aftertaste of love.
At that moment,
All the past events are gently sung into a delicate and gentle ballad,
In our own story,
Sing the same song over and over again
I wait for you in the silent night,
The wind messed up my hair.
I laughed,
See you pacing from a distance.
The boat of time,
A sentence as light as a feather crossed Ye Zhi.
I heard the bell of love,
Is to calmly ring the final loyalty!
? Honey. ,
Please allow me to address you so kindly.
Love dust,
Hand in hand,
Stumbling days
In the memory of my later years,
Was the past all sweet? ...
Your smile is not what it used to be.
There are many wrinkles.
Your black hair is not what it used to be.
Much whiter.
Your footsteps are no longer what they used to be,
Stumbling.
My voice is not what it used to be,
A little hoarse.
My shoulders are not what they used to be,
It's a little narrow.
My steps are not what they used to be,
A little slow.
When you get old,
My hair is gray,
My eyes are still on your face.
When you get old,
There are many wrinkles,
I will still watch the sunset with you!
?
The most romantic thing I can think of,
Is to grow old with you.
Collect bits and pieces of laughter along the way,
Save it for later,
Sit in a rocking chair and chat slowly.
The most romantic thing I can think of,
Is to grow old with you.
Until we're too old to go anywhere,
You're still,
Treat me like a treasure in your hand! when you are old
Author: Ye Zhi
When you get old,
Please take it off,
I wrote a poem for you.
Those vows hidden between the lines,
Still in the dust of the years,
Recording first love?
I am waiting for you at the end of time,
The wind blew away the memory of yesterday.
Silver moonlight,
Sprinkle on the winding road we walked,
The phosphorescence of the years began to ripple in the evening breeze.
There was a rustling sound in the distance,
Twisted between heaven and earth.
Your name is mixed with the flute,
Gracefully ups and downs in my mind.
I stood in the opposite corner,
Waiting for you quietly?
When you get old,
Stumbling on the path at dusk,
Tell old stories.
Please allow me to hold your arm,
Take a walk in the herb garden full of petals.
Your bent back,
In the late autumn wind,
Full of fatigue.
The afterglow of the sunset,
Hanging over your elegant posture.
Allow me,
Give you a deep hug again!
My arm,
Without the impulsive passion of youth,
But into the sincere arms,
In the long river of time,
It caused eternal pain.
When you get old,
Eyes that are no longer clear,
Stories of spring, summer, autumn and winter are flowing.
Please allow me to stand by you,
Gaze into your eyes quietly;
Please allow me to look at each other silently,
Read your mind quietly.
Calm eyes,
Drowned years of hard work,
A calm smile,
It is full of every chapter of life.
Pick up the book of poems I read to you when I was young,
In colorful poems,
Life and death parting,
It has become an eternal look back between the moments of youth.
When you get old,
Time has eroded your face.
Allow me to use my trembling hands,
Touch your smashed face;
Please allow me to use gentle language,
Touch your forehead,
After many vicissitudes.
Let me use a singing voice,
Whispering your name.
If a pious soul,
Can drive out of Bai Lianhua,
Turn me into a lotus leaf,
Waiting for your bloom.
When you get old,
On the face after the beauty disappeared,
With the holy light of pilgrims,
Although youth is gone, beauty is blooming.
Please allow me to put the flying dust into the vase of years.
On the moonlit windowsill.
The night wind blows,
Let a good time,
Play it back in my mind over and over again.
Night epiphyllum
In the sleeping memory,
I stretched my petals shyly and felt a little tired.
Everything in the world,
Lost its luster in the aftertaste of love.
At that moment,
All the past events are gently sung into a delicate and gentle ballad,
In our own story,
Sing the same song over and over again
I wait for you in the silent night,
The wind messed up my hair.
I laughed,
See you pacing from a distance.
The boat of time,
A sentence as light as a feather crossed Ye Zhi.
I heard the bell of love,
Is to calmly ring the final loyalty!
? Honey. ,
Please allow me to address you so kindly.
Love dust,
Hand in hand,
Stumbling days
In the memory of my later years,
Was the past all sweet? ...
Your smile is not what it used to be.
There are many wrinkles.
Your black hair is not what it used to be.
Much whiter.
Your footsteps are no longer what they used to be,
Stumbling.
My voice is not what it used to be,
A little hoarse.
My shoulders are not what they used to be,
It's a little narrow.
My steps are not what they used to be,
A little slow.
When you get old,
My hair is gray,
My eyes are still on your face.
When you get old,
There are many wrinkles,
I will still watch the sunset with you!
?
The most romantic thing I can think of,
Is to grow old with you.
Collect bits and pieces of laughter along the way,
Save it for later,
Sit in a rocking chair and chat slowly.
The most romantic thing I can think of,
Is to grow old with you.
Until we're too old to go anywhere,
You're still,
Treat me like a treasure in your hand!
Old, gray-haired, sleepy. When you are too old to walk, keep warm by the fire and remember your youth. How many people have loved your youthful singing and worshipped your beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity? Only one person still loves your pious soul and the wrinkles on your old face. ? Notes before the text of a book or after the title of an article.
Time keeps moving forward. We are like duckweeds in the water. We can't decide the direction, we can only go with the flow. I just happened to meet you, and the scenery was endless. It is a blessing to enjoy it with you.
I live in a hurry, just listening to a warm song in my spare time, like telling a quiet story about you and me. Don't tell anyone, hide it in the depths of your mind, and take it out when you are old, when we are young and ignorant.
The flickering lights in the dark warmed a narrow place. A pair of figures swaying casually in the light, like a story, but not as wonderful as a fairy tale, only a kind of warmth.
The hardships of life may carve wrinkles on your face, and may change the years, but the initial heart will not change. Until one day, when you are old, your eyebrows are drooping and your lights are dim, I will still sit by your side and accompany you to recall your youth, bit by bit.
As time goes by, you and I will always be with you. The leaves may turn yellow, but the sky will remain dark blue. Hold your hand, scrub the marks left by time, and count the timeless memories under time.
One day, we are not young, white-haired and wrinkled. Quietly leaning against the fire to keep warm, feeling groggy, listening to a lazy song, you may fall into a deep sleep, holding your hand and holding it tightly. That is the story left to us by the years.
When you are old, I am no longer young. Sitting in the corner of the courtyard, watching the sunset set from the western hills, your most beautiful smile is hidden in the depths of the afterglow.
Old, prose poetry 3: old, old, simple heart, mountains near the water, thin, prosperous. Holding wine in the sunset, there is a bright moon among the flowers, regardless of the old man's past, get drunk tonight.
When you are old, a mountain is sunny and a mountain is foggy, you sit quietly on the water bank and watch Qian Fan pass by, and the resentment disappears and the love and hate fade away. It turns out that it is so pleasant to forget the new year.
Old white hair turns into snow, my bag is full of sun and moon, and I sleep in the yard. The sun is mottled and the doors and windows are old, so I believe in the scenery on earth. It turned out to be a mirror.
When you are old, walk across the fields with crutches and watch the birds return to the mountains, the tides return to the sea, the frost is full of tiles, the maple leaves are red, and the children and grandchildren are around their knees. It turns out that fireworks are so cute.
When you are old, you find that there is no cool world that you can't reach, and there is no human spring and autumn that you can't read through. The person who loves you doesn't love her, and the person you love doesn't love you. People who love each other cannot be together, and people who are together do not love each other. It turns out that love is the pursuit of the sun and the moon, the entanglement of heaven and earth, the blending of fire and water, the breeze and white clouds? ..
When you are old, when you look back and smile, it is still beautiful, the wilderness is still empty, the desert is still lonely, Jiangnan is still misty and rainy, and singing and dancing are still spring. Flowers on the stranger, willow green, 30% sunlight, a pot of exotic * * *. Where in the world is not my hometown!
Text: As pale as a chrysanthemum.