The Prose Poems of Passers-by in Beilin: Winter Rhyme
The cold approached me in a lonely manner.
Snowflakes begin to breed dreams with the brilliance of life.
I stand in the wind and look at those who pursue their dreams.
Only hope can't stop the road to happiness.
The river froze and 1000 birds died.
The mountains and rivers were silent all night.
Flying snowflakes cover the dust of the world with their bodies.
I want to wake up the sleeping people with cold in winter.
Flowers and leaves have quietly returned to the soil.
There are no more beautiful songs this season.
I heard footsteps chasing the sun in the snow.
It's not just winter buds silently looking forward to spring in the dark.
How many encounters in fate are reunions after a long separation?
I dare not face the autumn wind calmly and say that it will last forever.
Look at the blooming wintersweet on the cliff.
It tells me that only when you know, can you accompany me silently, and * * * can reach the horizon with an open mind.
No one can hear the sound of snow falling.
The flowers died out in the cold wind.
Flowers bloom and fall, which is the unexpected ending of life.
Only Chimonanthus praecox, which is independent in the wind, sticks to the meaning of understanding in the world of true feelings.
Who wants to be left out by the warmth of spring flowers and autumn moon?
Who wants to use his life to awaken a thin memory?
Ten miles of enchanting, can not walk out of the flowers, can not walk out of the hustle and bustle of the dust.
I just want to be your only one, accompanied by the cold wind, and the years are quiet.
I walk alone at night.
Those warm seeds grow silently under my feet.
The earth is still pregnant with life in silence.
The frozen river can't resist the passionate singing.
The night light becomes bright in the wind alone
I heard hooves.
People who go with the wind chase the footsteps of the season with songs.
A snow made me understand the meaning of warmth.
At the crossroads of life, there is a lamp shining quietly.
Snowy night, rainy night, every lonely night you can't resist.
Those people are like a fire, a lamp
Warm your travel and warm the winter in your life.
The flowers of the years have greatly increased my memory.
You have your shadow in the wind and your shadow in the snow.
People who travel together.
I made the most detailed collection of poems to enrich your footprint.
A seed silently
Let yourself lie dormant in the soil.
Like a passionate life, it is silent in the world.
Only heavy snow, only flying snowflakes, can make my songs penetrate the indifference that condenses into ice.
I read the Preface of Winter with a fresh voice.
The earth is still warm, and the rivers under the ice are still raging.
Spring, ready for starting position.
Only life, only life on the road of running, unyielding.
Sunshine combs my feathers with gentle hands.
Snow-covered villages call me back to my hometown with smoke.
The song is long and line. I turned around and looked back.
Childhood is still the same, apricot flowers are hot wine, nourishing my eyes and winter poems.
I stepped on the rhythm of winter and sang songs in the wilderness of life.
I am a horseshoe chasing the wind, stepping out of plum blossoms on a snowy night.
I am snowflake, I am ice, and I am the negative of time.
I want to start a new spring with a snow and a white faith.
Lyric prose poems written by passers-by in Beilin: My North and South
My south is my mother's south.
Small streets and long corridors, gorgeous clothes
A boat with a leaf, a cloak and a long pole.
Just opposite the pond at the door.
My north is my father's north.
A hot kang made of green onions and straw.
A sickle, a cart of water and a straw hat.
I got the hope of an autumn.
My mother is the embroidered mother of Jiangnan.
She painted her dream hometown with colorful brocade.
My father is a craftsman in the north.
He painted the mountains and ridges in the northwest with a red-hot soldering iron.
Mother's south, apricot flowers, spring rain, soft heart.
The alley under the oil-paper umbrella is full of rhyme and ink.
Father's north, gravel, horses, poplars.
The turbulent river is full of fortitude and heroism.
I have my father's eyes and my mother's nose.
I was born with a soft waist and an unyielding backbone.
I am a ballad in the south and a Shaanxi opera in the north.
I am my father's Yellow River and my mother's Yangtze River.
My south and north
A pool of osmanthus, Shandandan red wall.
My south and north
A restaurant full of rice and flowers and a green gauze tent full of red sorghum.
My south and north.
Affectionate rivers and dense hills
Winding cloisters, straight walls
Which place is not my missing, my hometown?
I was born in the south of my mother and grew up in the north of my father.
I have the bones of the south and the strength of the north.
I am a mother. I am a continuation of cleverness.
I inherited my father's stubbornness.
My south and north
The rain hits the banana softly, and Ansai's waist drum is full of passion.
My south and north
A gifted scholar and a beautiful woman in the land of plenty, a night light in the Gobi Desert.
My south and north.
Small bridge flowing water, lonely smoke in the desert
Long river sunset, spring water heating.
Which one is not my inner call, my dream home?
I touched the land in the south of the Yangtze River with my mother's hands.
I sang the desolation of the northwest with my father's voice.
I am a child standing on the shoulders of my parents.
I am a flower on both sides of the Yellow River and the Yangtze River.
I look at my mother's south from my father's north.
I can't sing all kinds of Jiangnan minor.
I can't finish painting colorful rivers and mountains.
Mother's blood flows through mine, connecting the north and south of my father's bones and muscles.
A lyric prose poem written by passers-by in Beilin: Chunhua
Spring ushered in a warmer earth with persistent waiting.
Seeds that had been dormant for a winter began to sprout in the soil.
Darkness gives life the courage to flourish.
The warm call made the heart eager for light wake up overnight.
The geese returned to the north and the glaciers began to melt.
With a loud noise, the spring exploded
The earth welcomes the growth of all things with a mother-like mind.
Spring opened the doors and windows of March with magical eyes.
Flowers and leaves smile at the sun together.
Mountains and rivers no longer face the sky implicitly.
Spring rain kisses the earth and rivers with a soft gesture.
Praise from Jiangnan to Saibei has been sung all over the world.
I stopped in the arms of spring and didn't want to leave.
I regard the life of youth as green willows blooming and spring grass blooming.
I don't know how many delicate buds are waiting to bloom in this gentle rain.
I don't know how much expectation there is in my heart after being silent for a winter.
I put my ears on my knees and listened to the message of spring.
I feel the warm sunshine and my wings are flying in the sky.
My budding bud blooms under your gaze.
My green branches break away from the monotony and come to your arms in waves.
Whose showman opened the chapter of spring?
Who painted charming colors all over the hill in spring?
I am a seasonal traveler, and I prefer the sunshine in March.
I am the voice of cuckoo, singing only for sowing blood in early spring.
No one knows the mind of the grass.
No one knows how much humble life longs to fly in the silent night.
I am the seed of hope in the dark.
My love is wildfire, which never completely consumes their loyalty and the green leaves' desire for roots.
My life is so small, just like the footsteps of youth are short and hurried.
But I still walk happily in spring and sing loudly.
I know that no matter how barren this land is, it is also the place where the spring breeze deeply kisses.
I know that every grass and nameless wild flower will never give up growing.
Those people who work hard on the land in spring.
I want to walk with you.
I want to use the pride of youth to write the joy of the growth of all things.
I want to tell those young wings how many mountains and rivers are waiting to fly.
Who can count the pain and bitterness in the smile of each flower?
Who can tell me how many times I have been abandoned, frustrated and tortured during my growing years?
Look at the flowers all over the mountain.
Which petal, which leaf has not experienced wind and rain?
In spring, I run all over the street holding the banner of love.
I thank the earth for its kindness with colorful fragrance.
I am a drunken vagrant, obsessed with the beauty of spring.
I am a tramp, drowned in the castle in spring.
My life is the lush years of burning spring.
My song is endless mountains and green waters.
I wander in spring poems, songs, dreams and feelings.
I am the messenger of spring. I crossed the fence in winter and came back from the horse. I never went far.
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