I grew up in the ink of poetry, and my family also likes poetry. In this way, poetry deeply took root in my childhood, and simple and clean flowers quietly opened with my growth.
Dad is the person who loves me the most, and his company with me is the flying flower of poetry. According to his memory, when I was two years old, I started a story with poetry and started my vision and imagination of another world.
When I was a child, I lived in my grandmother's house in the country. The sky there was blue, the white clouds were white, the ears of wheat in the field were golden, and everything was harmonious and healthy. There are many artistic conceptions that peers can't get.
I still remember my first contact with poetry, which is still fresh in my mind. Occasionally, I walked hand in hand with my father on my way home in the country, and suddenly I saw a few leisurely big white geese in the pond, probably raised by my neighbors! Feathers are covered with snow-white feathers, and their necks stand high. They keep calling: "Ga-ga-". Their voices were hoarse and happy. They played happily and broke duckweed unconsciously in the water. Crisp green rippled with the water lines, and the big white goose played happily and cried. My eyes looked curiously at these happy angels, and my father was happy to see me intoxicated. Then, they shouted loudly: "Goose, Goose, Goose, Xiang Tiange, white hair floating green water, red palm stirring clear waves". This is a poem written by our ancestor Luo when he was four years old. It's called "singing geese". What he saw at that time, like what you saw, was a big white goose in the water. I looked at them with ecstasy, and unconsciously vaguely read: "Goose, Goose, Xiang Tiange ..." This artistic conception coincides with the poem, so this poem has become the most precious treasure.
I don't know why, but the sunset in the poem has a special liking for me. Perhaps the memory of the country doomed my love for the sunset in the poem. Every evening, silence becomes my paradise. I sat quietly on the firewood pile and looked at the west. It is a huge sunset that casts a layer of excitement or sadness on my inner world. "to see the sun, for all his glory, buried by the coming night." I have felt the disappointment of Li Shangyin and the flight of time. "Birds are singing in gu cun, and the sunset is red in the village." I feel very quiet and carefree, and that yearning has been brewing in my heart for a long time.
From this poem, I read the concern that "she sewed carefully and mended it thoroughly, fearing that the delay would make him go home late"; From the poem, I read the harvest of "planting a millet in spring and harvesting 10 thousand seeds in autumn"; From the poem, I read the leisure of "picking chrysanthemums under the east fence and seeing Nanshan leisurely"; From the poem, I read the pleasure of "appreciating strange articles and analyzing doubtful points" ...
In poetry, there are ups and downs, joys and sorrows. It is a dusty history and a crystallization of wisdom. Let's read and listen attentively.