I found the beauty of poetry. English is everywhere under the begonia tree. Leaning on a bamboo chair with a book of poems in his hand. Close to the letter, eyes slightly closed, if there is no ink coming from afar, it will ripple in my heart instantly. It's like going back in time, taking me through the clouds for thousands of years ... here, it's the land of defending the country. The spring and autumn wind blowing in the air is simple and warm, with the whisper of the Book of Songs. Life and death are rich and prosperous, and the son inherits it. Hold your hand and grow old with your son.
It is a pure feeling between husband and wife, without any impurities, and it has become the fiercest color in the hearts of thousands of troops on the battlefield. The mountain has no edges, the heaven and the earth are in harmony, and it is raining and snowing in summer, but I dare to say goodbye to you! What kind of fierce woman is that? In the face of her love, heaven will make three points! Vole, vole, don't eat my millet! This is how people in the Spring and Autumn Period dare to love, hate, say and do. Freedom in The Book of Songs has left a warm background for future generations. Lotus pond, moonlight shadow, Lanting, paddle sound. Did the beautiful woman who opened a pool of gulls and herons return to the shore? Yi 'an in girlhood has the shyness of being guessed, and the little joy of flying treasure ducks leaning on acacia. Love has come and gone, and Yi An has experienced too many joys and sorrows. In her words, there is always a sense of melancholy that the blue boat is alone. Flowers floating in the water, a kind of acacia, two places of leisure, searching, cold and desolate, sad, Huanglong is still piled all over the ground, so what is she looking for? The family is ruined and the country is in danger. I also had the feeling of being a hero and dying a ghost, but I was late and couldn't beat the wind, which made me feel at a loss. What I can't find is not only the way home, but also the inevitable panic, the regret that the mountains and rivers fell, and the dribs and drabs that once stayed together and left. The streamer easily dumped people, turning cherries into red and plantains into green.
In Jie Jiang's poems, there is little satisfaction and reunion, but there is always a touch of regret and a bit of gentle sadness. Time is ruthless, and it passed in a blink of an eye. Nowadays, well-dressed teenagers are full of hair, which makes people feel sad. I thought of "Listening to the Rain", and I thought of the absurd youth. Standing at the door of the monk's house, I only sighed that joys and sorrows are always ruthless. Before the next step, it was already dripping into the morning. Tianjiang is a mine with low wind and low clouds. Jie Jiang's ci is like a lonely goose, flying to the ferry of life. Leave him alone and ask Bai Ou if he stays in his body or in his heart. In the small building in the breeze and drizzle, the oil lamp is still dim. Looking around, I can only vaguely see the silhouette of an elegant man leaning against the window, holding the Cui of his dead wife in his hand. Today, Fang laments that it was just ordinary at that time and feels that life is just like the first time. There is only a thin line between life and death. Looking back, I just hate the Millennium. Nalan Rong Ruo's sadness went deep into the bone marrow and merged into the universe.
When I think of the happiness of gambling books when I am drunk and sleepless in spring, I can only reminisce about the ancient sunset and ask who reads the west wind alone. Who will accompany him to board the ship and wander around to appreciate the joys and sorrows of life? When you wake up from your dream, a pear tree falls down in front of your eyes. Those lost thoughts for thousands of years have turned into poems and condensed into my heart. It is also true and illusory, like a dream. The dream of spring is traceless.