The song stopped on the wall and was silent alone.
Frost and yellow grass
Spread in the sunset
Someone left outside the exhibition hall
Crawl in the mountains
The distant bell rang a glorious mirage in the evening.
Birds have to wander in the shadows.
Waiting for the wings to dance freely
Time fleets past.
Will there be many fallen leaves deposited in the pond?
moon
So I wandered around all night.
Singing and flying in the sky farther than midnight.
Homes are guided by lights.
Those frank past events are turbulent.
Fold and tidy up the devastated winter stored on the bookshelf.
It's full of souls who died for the war of resistance.
The song cut through the quiet and hot candlelight.
Candles shed tears like blood.
Those days when suffering accumulated.
Many names are still buried under the desolate starlight.
The yellow grass all over the mountain is also waiting for spring.
next year
The moon in Mid-Autumn Festival is very peaceful.
Second:
The warm southern ocean is a tsunami.
The skin of the sea is covered with foaming at the mouth.
Had to be abandoned tonight.
Let the night fall into an old yellow book.
There is always the last scenery in my heart.
It is impossible to describe the spring when grass grows freely on the ocean, but it can be imagined.
I can't hear the shepherd blowing his flute and crushing the moon into the well.
The full moon in winter sank into the ocean.
The memory of a bird becomes an indefatigable fish.
The waves are rough and full of vitality.
Please believe that a winter snow
Will eventually hang in the sunny south.
I originally wanted to write a tactical article on the history of the Anti-Japanese War. However, after reading more historical materials about the war of resistance against Japan, I really want to write stories about the war of resistance against Japan that were almost wiped out by the whole army.
However, many times I write and write, but I am often frustrated and have no courage to continue writing.
At this moment, humility and helplessness are hidden in the cold night, so cold water spreads.
The chill overflowed the windowsill, and it was starry night outside the window.
In the boundless moonlight, every opened old book on the desk looks so cold. It's not easy to write, but someone has to write.
In addition to feeling, there are two small poems expressing feelings about the Mid-Autumn Festival.