Winter is a poem.

Winter is a poem, a poem that I don't know where to start and where to go. It is mixed with the sound of autumn, and quietly leaves in the responsibility before spring.

Winter poetry came to the end of autumn in an autumn rain. The rain brought cold air to the north, indicating that the autumn harvest season has passed.

The rain knocked down only a few remaining wheat grains and broke their leaves and stems. It made the leaves fall apart, leaving only the last words.

The fifth rain was mixed with snow particles, representing the wanton invasion of the autumn remnant army in winter.

Winter has changed from soft harmony to lead singer, and its time has come.

People hoarded food and clothes for the winter, waiting for the arrival of heavy snow. The seventh rain turned into snow, and it rained harder and harder.

People are afraid that their houses will be knocked down by the rage and roar of winter and overturned by endless snow and snow.

But they are not sad, because they understand: if winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Spring sneaked into the dynasty in winter, and it snowed and froze in winter, but it still couldn't stop everything from joining the chorus of spring.

Spring becomes the main theme of the world, and winter once again becomes a low-key singer. Only in shadows and corners can you see its shining footprints.