1, Poetry 1
In autumn, wearing a golden skirt woven by the sun, walking in the chorus of birds singing cicadas, the red leaves on the hillside began to burn, and rich fruits surged in poetry. In the autumn smile, Fenhe River is full of faint sweetness, cotton is spitting clouds, corn is waving golden branches, and golden October is boiling on the wings and feathers of canaries.
2. Poetry II
The old farmer painted an autumn in his eyes, and joy flowed in his wrinkled riverbed. Tian Long's mature poems will be bound in the spacious heart of the old farmer. I was intoxicated in the old farmer's mind and let the autumn wind weave a beautiful dream for me. Come, old farmer, my hometown, take the wine brewed by Chou-heung and have a good drink on the moon.
3. Poetry III
The moon rises in the starry sky. Thanks to the sweet smile of my little sister and the earnest expectations of the old people, the Mid-Autumn Moon is walking on the smooth road of time and will be a guest in a happy family. Autumn wind plays a song with the strings of a tree, whether it is close at hand or far away.
In the eyebrows full of expectation and longing, Ququ is the same rhyme-reunion dream.
4. Poetry 4
Even the pigeon whistle sounds mature, and the rainy and noisy summer has passed. No longer think about the severe and sultry test and the detailed memory of dangerous swimming. After breaking ground in spring buds, twisting and injury in the growth of young buds, these branches are also crazy in the hot sun and almost lost their way in the rainy night.
Now, there is not a cloud in the plain sky, the mountains and rivers are clear, the vision is exceptionally broad, and the wisdom and feelings are mature. The river also seems to come from a deeper source. Turbulent airflow fermentation leads to transparent wine in the valley. What autumn is blowing?
The intoxicating fragrance has deeply dyed the autumn flowers and leaves. Street trees also use red to indicate something. The wheels of the bicycle are shining with vitality. The long arm of the tower crane points to the distance at high altitude, and Qiuyang scans the harvest information on it.
5. Poetry 5
Farewell, starry night, first frost. I have suffered from the pain that holy water cannot be washed. You stepped on my back. Welcome, Shu Dong. You're alive. At this last moment, I opened my eyes, put my hands around the feet of the sun, watched the leaves tremble, danced and listened to the sound of the city until I cried with joy.