This Chief Murong's "Youth" is so great. All the endings have been written, and all the tears have started. But suddenly I forgot what kind of beginning it was, in that ancient place that will never come back. In summer, no matter how I pursue my youth, you are just passing by like a cloud shadow, and your smiling face is very light and pale, gradually disappearing in the mist after sunset. Then I open the yellowed title page and fate has bound it extremely poorly. With tears in my eyes, I read it again and again, but I had to admit that youth is a book that is too hasty. If it were longer, "This is Everything" by Shu Ting is also very good. It talks about not giving up hope. We recited this song. It is also everything - a reply to "Everything" by a young friend Shu Ting Not all big trees are broken by the storm; Not all seeds cannot find the soil to take root; Not all true feelings are lost in the desert of the human heart; Not all dreams are willing Wings broken off. No, not everything is like what you said, not all flames only burn themselves and not illuminate others; not all stars only point to the darkness but not report the dawn; not all songs only pass by the ears but do not stay in the heart. superior. No, not everything is like you said! Not all calls are unresponsive; not all losses cannot be compensated; not all abyss are destruction; not all destruction is covered on the weak; not all hearts can be stepped on and rot in the mud; not all consequences are Tears and blood stains, but no joyful face. Everything in the present breeds the future, and everything in the future grows out of its yesterday. Hope, and fight for it, please put it all on your shoulders. There is also this, which is also quite good. The poem "Youth" - Chongqing. The blooming and fading flowers of youth make me tired but not regretful. The falling rain and snow in the four seasons make me intoxicated but unbearable and haggard. The gentle wind and green dreams, the gentle morning and dusk, the faint clouds and the faint tears, the faint years. With a bit of wandering joy, I just left and never came back. No one hinted at the boring feeling of homesickness that I felt when I was young. I want to cling tightly to every golden sunset, and wash away my accumulated sadness with every transparent dewdrop. In that distant spring scenery, I met her in full bloom, filled with dazzling brilliance like a beautiful fairy tale. Allow me to sing for you. I won’t be able to sleep every night from now on. Allow me to cry for you. In the tears, I can fly freely. The sky in the dream was huge and I was lying on your eyelashes. The days in the dream were many, but I started to want to go home. I will bury all my songs on that green hillside, waiting for the day when they will be legendary in the world. The flowers of youth bloom and fade, which makes me tired but I don’t regret it. The rain and snow in the four seasons make me intoxicated but haggard. The entangled clouds, entangled tears, entangled mornings and dusk, the passing wind, the passing dreams, the passing years.