Wild flowers,
stars, dots,
like lost buttons,
scattered on the roadside.
It does not have autumn chrysanthemums,
curly blond hair,
nor peonies,
a delicate face,
< p>It has only tiny flowers,and thin branches and leaves,
dissolving the faint fragrance
into the beautiful spring.
My poems,
are like nameless little flowers,
with the wind and rain of the season,
quietly blooming
The lonely world....