Prose poems about hawthorn trees

It’s nearly October and the hawthorns are ripe. The red skin is highlighted by white dots, making it look fresher and more pleasing to the eye. Below are the prose poems about hawthorn trees that I brought to you for your enjoyment.

Prose poems about hawthorn trees: Under the hawthorn tree

Under the hawthorn tree,

I look at you, but your back is turned to me.

I imagined the innocent smile in your bright eyes,

But I only saw the determined back,

With tears embedded in the wind.

I saw Jingqiu’s shy look,

I held her in my arms like a third child,

I clearly saw your face,

An angry look,

Like a coquettish baby who is talking and learning.

I hugged and hugged tightly,

Your delicate and smooth skin is so rough,

I opened my eyes,

Tall hawthorn trees.

The traces of dewdrops quietly seeped out of the tree trunks,

The wonderful hawthorn flowers were flying all over the sky like catkins,

I gently, gently opened my eyes. Open your palms and let it melt in your hands.

I left the ground and flew to the sky,

Shouting your name loudly.

I saw you anxiously by the river

Running and wandering,

It looked like you were looking for me. Prose poems about hawthorn trees: Hawthorn trees

The spring breeze blows in March

I'm waiting for you on the hills

The sound of the cuckoo

Calling to become green bamboos all over the mountains and plains

Missing

Standing tall and growing into towering trees

Glorious summer nights

Me Walking by the river

Just for the restlessness of the heart

Refined into quiet waiting

The autumn moon shines into boundless lovesickness

Who is staring at the window

Watching for a thousand years

Only for the encounter in this life Prose poems about the hawthorn tree: Under the hawthorn tree

But I still remember,

Under the distant hillside,

The blooming hawthorn flowers,

And the white clouds.

The far away figure,

I once leaned against it quietly,

I touched its branches and buds with both hands,

I gently conveyed my thoughts Comb.

I want to stay more,

Let the years go by slowly,

Don’t let tears hang on the branches,

Feel the gentle evening breeze .

But since I chose to leave,

Maybe I can’t give up.

Now under the hawthorn tree,

It is full of white flowers.

Lonely person,