A modern poem describing a small river 1 A small river flows forward steadily.
Where you pass, both sides are covered with black soil.
Full of red flowers, green leaves and yellow fruits.
A farmer came back with a hoe and built a weir in the middle of the stream.
When the downstream water dries up, the upstream water is blocked by the weir, so it can't get down, get in or go back. The water just turned in front of the weir.
If the water wants to save her life, it must keep flowing, so it just turns in front of the weir.
The soil under the weir gradually washed out of the water and became a deep pool.
Water doesn't blame the weir, it just wants to flow.
I want to flow forward steadily as before.
One day, the farmer came again and built a stone weir outside the earth weir. The earth weir collapsed and the water just swirled around the solid stone weir.
The rice in the field outside the weir, listening to the sound of running water, said with a frown,-
"I am a rice, a poor grass. I like water to moisten me, but I'm afraid it will flow through me.
The water in the river is my good friend.
He used to flow firmly in front of me,
I nodded to him and he smiled at me.
I hope he can release the stone weir,
Still flowing,
Smile at us,
The twists and turns flow forward as much as possible,
After that, the two places became splendid.
He is my good friend,
I'm afraid he doesn't know me now,
He groaned on the ground,
Although it sounds subtle, how terrible it is!
It's not like my friend's usual voice,
When I was taken to the beach by the breeze,
A cheerful voice.
I'm afraid that when he comes out this time,
I don't know my old friend,-
He stepped over me.
That's why I'm worried here. "
The mulberry tree beside the field also shook its head and said, "I am tall and can see the river." He is my good friend. He gives me clean water to drink, so that I can have plump green leaves and purple mulberries.
His once clear color,
Now it's blue and black,
It is also a year-round struggle, and many spasmodic wrinkles are added to my face.
He only got down and didn't have time to nod and smile at me.
The pool under the weir is deeper than my roots.
I was born by the river,
The summer sun won't dry my branches,
My roots won't freeze in winter.
Now I'm afraid of my good friend,
Take me to the beach,
Mixed with the aquatic plants he rolled up.
I pity my good friend,
But I'm really worried about myself. "
The grass and frogs in the field listened to them.
Everyone is sighing, and each has his own worries.
The water just spins in front of the weir.
Modern Poems on Small Rivers II (1)
stream
For thousands of years.
Accompanied by several families
Have deep feelings.
Make waves when you meet a stone.
When you meet a stream, you become a deep pool.
Meet the gap
Let white hair grow into a thousands of feet.
(2)
stream
let nature take its course
Reflect the spring flowers everywhere.
Keep a river and fish leisurely.
Build a wooden bridge
It leads to people's yards.
Set off the profusion of peach blossoms and pear blossoms.
It inspired Tang poetry and Song poetry.
(3)
Dozens of families
The crossroads in front of the river
Whose little yellow dog?
Eyes are exceptionally bright.
Sit in the yard, mom.
Welcome to tea when you meet someone.
Dad is walking on the road.
Ask questions when you meet visitors.
(4)
The river flows
Irrigate thousands of hectares of grain fields.
Tao Yuanming seems to have been in the future.
The scenery here has not changed for thousands of years.
Whose yard
The door was not closed.
The hearts of good people
See the world as good.
(5)
It just rained.
The river overflowed the shore.
Clear as ever.
Show enthusiasm for the guests
Some peony flowers are in full bloom.
Open so brilliantly
Mo huishou
The man at the door is more beautiful than peony.
(6)
Butterflies never fly
It used to be a roadside full of small flowers.
The cherry bent the branches.
Who will choose one?
Meet the master
Welcome to the yard.
Cut a cup of tea and serve wine.
Pick some cherries and taste them.
(7)
A peach is like a bean.
The flowers are still stuck to it.
Miss the blooming season.
This mountain must be full of flowers.
Xinger has taken shape.
I haven't had it yet.
The saliva has flowed to the chin.
It's really not who's in charge
(8)
The river is full of joy.
The waves are rough, like smiling faces.
The red color of peach blossoms
Reflect intoxicating fragrance.
The river is flowing.
Have a drink.
Suddenly feel
My heart is full of freshness.
(9)
This river has no end.
This road is not broken.
There are few people by the river.
But always walk along the front door of every house.
The wild mountains are beautiful.
All is silent.
The river is long.
Because she is connected with the world.
( 10)
Walk on the path
Look at the scenery of barren hills and mountains.
Take a few sips of water from the river.
Even if you are predestined friends with wild mountains.
Walk out of the ditch
The wind is blowing and waving.
The river is very long. Take another ride.
Show the beauty of wild mountains and rivers.
Modern Poetry Describing Rivers 3 Rivers in Memory
The river in front of the door,
What wonderful memories you brought me!
In spring,
We go fishing,
Grab the trouser legs, bow down,
My arm kept scratching in the water,
Ming felt that the little fish slipped in his hand.
Have a proud fishing trip
Yo,
Only muddy grass with hands full!
In summer,
We had a water fight,
Hey,
You attacked first,
Don't be rude to me,
I poured water on your head,
You pour it into my collar,
Soaked to the skin,
As soon as the evening breeze blows,
I can't help feeling very comfortable.
"Ah" cried.
In autumn,
We throw stones,
Pick out the biggest one on the ground,
Throw it out with all your might,
There are ripples on the water.
Yeah,
I'm farther than you,
It brings irritability.
Jaundiced
Eyes.
In winter, we go fishing.
Knock a hole in the ice with a bench,
Gently put in the fishing line,
For a long time, the hooks fluctuated slightly.
Pull with all your strength,
Alas,
Only grass covered with hooks!
Rivers, rivers,
Memories of childhood are singing,
Let me keep that innocence forever,
Leg-high rivers always reflect happiness!
Modern Poems Describing Small Rivers in Hometown Four Small Rivers
The river in my hometown.
It was a serenade that Kubinashi stopped humming.
On a night without electric lights
Brush, brush, and sing till dawn.
Rivers in my hometown
This is a very long ink painting.
Pocoyo
Crawl on a wide stone bridge
Watch mom get dressed.
Look at the water drops like blooming flowers.
The river in my hometown.
This is a cool playground that can be played again and again.
The newly raised dam in front of the stone mill
A group of smooth childishness
I can't wait to start a water war, tie a dive and float a splash.
The river in my hometown.
Is a close partner on the way to school.
Wave to me in the morning.
Sing at night and send me home.
In this way, cold comes and summer goes.
I walked out of the river.
I also walked out of the home where I was born and raised.
at present
There are many tall buildings and dense population in my hometown.
This river has also been flooded by domestic sewage, and none of it is clean.
I'll never see you again.
I will never hear your cheerful voice again.
The river was quietly separated in this way.
Constantly dilute my heavy memory.
But every time in the dead of night
I will remember this river bit by bit again.
Remember my mother's smile and recite my birth name.
Call me back again and again
A modern poem describing a small river —— A daydream about a corner of a small river
Your trickle is colorful in front of my eyes, less than your graceful one percent.
There are more riddles hidden deep on the other side of the mountain. I really want to follow your path and go out to have a look.
Are the flowers there colorful like clouds, telling the story of the world more brilliantly?
You smiled and dispelled the ripples, so beautiful that I stopped to stare and meditate.
I am glad that you are elegant and subtle, and your poems are surging, which is the reason why I don't travel.
So, the lazy heart hugged her legs tightly and let the soul sneak away for a while, just like the fluttering white butterfly, crossing the horizon and flying into the white clouds.
Feet are still like trees, standing still and growing roots.
You look at a mirror and invite me here every day to wash the dust of my soul.
Yesterday has become forever, and today will learn from yesterday's monotony.
Why am I so boring?
Although you are beautiful, here is only one percent of your thinness.
It's time to travel deep in your shadow, like a tern looking for the source of a colorful cloud, flying to the end of the sky.
Looking for Youlong's secret.