You stand on the bridge and watch the scenery.
The landscape observer is watching you upstairs.
The bright moon decorated your window,
You decorated other people's dreams.
The last rose in summer
Thomas Moore
This is the last rose in summer,
Or a person;
All her beautiful companions,
Has withered and died;
There are no more flowers,
By her side,
Reflect her blushing face,
Sigh with her and grieve with her.
I don't want to see you continue to suffer,
Stay alone on the branch;
Because all the lovely companions are asleep,
Why don't you go with them?
So I put your fragrant petals
Scattered gently on the flower bed,
Let you reunite with your dear friends.
Buried in incense soil.
When a lover's gold ring,
Lose the shine of jewelry,
When that precious friendship withered,
I also want to go with you.
When the loyal heart withers,
My dear person is dead,
Who wants to live alone,
In this bleak world.
"Forget me"
-Shu Ting
Blue flame
Jumping between movable type flowing ice cubes
A small book slipped from my hand.
Haven't landed yet.
I have finished it.
A beautiful elopement
You, so to speak.
Just you?
Meet unexpectedly tomorrow.
Multi-year diary index
Express one's feelings
Silent signature
Or a birthday present preserved by memory.
From the fence of youth to now.
I remember.
This was hundreds of years ago.
Hundreds of years.
The soul sheds its shell again and again.
Why is it always like this?
These three words wake up.
forget-me-not
forget-me-not
Who forgot me?
Who did I forget?
dawn redwood
The water is very cold
calmly
Let the confused clouds follow the clouds.
overlie
sincere
sunset
Outline mottled scales
Go to the shady bay
Light-carrying
Is it a hand that can bounce every time?
Autumn is getting stronger.
There is heaven and water.
Go your own way, but there are many solutions.
Insomnia that night.
Tossing and turning can't escape your long glance.
through the years
I trip over this string every day.
every day
On the picture of your ignorance.
Wake up
Go to sleep.
Until my feet are cold again.
Shui Yi
A warm little southerly wind pierced the stick.
white butterfly
You call me gardenia
know nothing at all
You once had a Metasequoia name.
And the season when the backlight fades.
I won't talk about it.
I don't have to say I'm one of your kind.
In an instant.
White secrets have infiltrated you.
When I sigh
Suddenly reach out your hand and wither.
One minute in the cafe.
Red light. Green light. Horn and bell
Through the French window
On a still face.
Cause a raging fire
noise
Glow dimly
eye
That unfathomable silence
The cup is full of night.
There is no heating.
The bell of the Drum Tower rang dully.
Yi Yi Zhang Chi
Expansion has edges and infinite distance.
The crowded formation of time
Took a woman in batches
Unknown crisis
Follow the road of memory
Feather shadow density
Rational disbelief comforts the soul.
Everything will pass.
Pain and loneliness
This may be the theme of an evening.
But one night,
Belong to oneself
Incandescent lamps and cold eyes
Put reserves into investment
ice carving
The soul and name eager to escape
I can't find a shadow to hide.
the next day
The silent accompaniment of sunshine, all this.
Has slowly turned into
popular song
A style of performance
The trumpet is the lamp of a lonely house in the wilderness.
Saxophone is a light and soft snowflake.
drop
Layer after layer.
Trumpets loom in the thin clouds.
In a pond in Saks.
Frogs sound one after another.
Fireflies bend the grass awn slightly.
The trumpet is tallow in autumn.
The saxophone was torn and surrounded by the swirling wind.
Raise your arms and pray for one last dance in the trunk.
The ground is red.
The trumpet suddenly pulled up.
Saxophone with foggy toes, forest music and deer.
brick by brick
brick by brick
The trumpet jumped out.
Saxophones spread out the ocean.
Wave after wave
It's all metallic sunlight.
Small standard is in sight.
There are many troops in saxophone.
The trumpet is desperate.
saxophone
Ah, saxophone suddenly became dumb.
Trumpet makes yourself rolling in the deep.
Broke the echo of rain and pearls
Saxophone stood on the stone throat and howled.
The sun sets.
I'm here to take your place, sister.
(Akhmatova)
"I'm here to replace you, sister,
By a bonfire deep in the forest.
Your hair is gray and your eyesight is poor.
Autumn brings tears to my eyes.
You no longer remember the songs of birds,
You can't find stars and lightning.
I can't hear the tambourine beating any more,
I know you are afraid of silence. "
"You have come to bury me.
Where are your shovels and shovels?
You only have a flute in your hand.
I won't blame you,
My voice stopped long ago,
Is it worth regretting?
Please put on my clothes,
Forget my worries,
Let the wind blow curly hair.
You smell like cloves,
Walking on a steep road,
In order to be an illuminated person. "
One left and gave it to the other.
Make room, make room.
Stumbling, like a blind man,
Walking on a strange and narrow road.
She seems to see everything nearby.
There's a flame ... with a tambourine in his hand.
She's like a white flag,
And she, like the light of a lighthouse.
19 12
(Wesley Wang)
The Happiness of Snowflakes Xu Zhimo
If I were a snowflake,
Handsome in midair
I have to know my direction clearly-
Fly, fly, fly-
This land has my direction.
Don't go to that cold valley,
Don't go to the desolate foothills,
Don't be disappointed in the deserted streets-
Fly, fly, fly-
You see, I have my direction.
Dancing in the air,
Identify quiet homes,
Waiting for her to visit in the garden—
Fly, fly, fly-
Ah, she smells like cinnabar plum!
At that time, I relied on my lightness,
Yingying touched her skirt,
Close to her tender heart-
Capacity elimination, capacity elimination, capacity elimination-
Melt in her gentle heart
Pond in winter
Give it to W. i.
Ponds in winter,
Lonely as an old man's heart—
A painstaking effort that has experienced the world;
Ponds in winter,
As dry as an old man's eyes—
Worn by hard work;
Ponds in winter,
As barren as an old man's hair—
Hair is as thin and gray as frost grass.
Ponds in winter,
As gloomy as a sad old man—
An old man hunched his back under a gloomy sky.
ichthyolite
How vivid the action is,
How energetic,
Jumping in the waves,
Floating on the sea;
Unfortunately, there was a volcanic eruption.
Could be an earthquake,
You lost your freedom,
Cut into dust;
Hundreds of millions of years later,
Geological exploration team,
Found you in the rocks,
Still lifelike.
But you were silent,
Not even a sigh,
Scales and fins are intact,
But can't move;
You're absolutely still,
No response to the outside world,
Can't see the sky and water,
I can't hear the waves.
Staring at a fossil,
Even fools learn a lesson:
Without exercise,
There is no life.
To live is to fight,
March forward in the struggle,
Even in death,
Energy should also be used cleanly.
The following is Yu Guangzhong's
Yarn tent
Midsummer night when I was a child.
Naive dreams are all cut with white gauze.
Luo Zhang's dome gently tilted down.
Pore of nebula □□
Looking up is a little hypnotic.
And dream catchers are always dense.
Cann't fly into a bloodthirsty assassin
-Nightcrawler in a black shirt with a dagger.
I had to complain outside.
But I have to add moonlight and shadows.
A few timid insect calls
A wisp of Zen mosquito-repellent incense
Recruit people to sleep, meander to sleep-
open one's eyes
The crimson light is half a bed.
-
Looking for Li Bai
-drinking crazy songs and living empty.
Who is the hero who becomes strong and stubborn?
I still have those proud boots.
Gao Lishi raised his hand in shame and indignation, and everyone left.
Place refugees and wounded soldiers everywhere.
Practice the rhythm of Huma and Qiangdi
Leave it to Toure to lament carefully.
Since that year, he has been fascinated by Zhang Zhi.
Recognizing you as a fallen fairy makes you more pretentious.
Put a spell on a small hip flask.
Hide yourself, even your wife can't find you.
Complain that Chang' an is small and the pot is long.
In all the poems, you predicted.
It will suddenly run away, maybe tomorrow.
Only when the ship breaks the waves is the wind.
Make enemies like a forest, everyone wants to kill.
How can cirrhosis kill you?
Seven-cent wine makes the moonlight.
The remaining three points into a firm but gentle roar.
Spit it out and it will be half a prosperous Tang dynasty.
From one yuan to Tianbao, from Luoyang to Xianyang
The noise of a car riding a crown running all over the road
Not as good as a song you wrote a thousand years later.
Crystal quatrains tapped me on the forehead.
Echo caused by local bombs
Enough to degrade the world.
It would be a shame to let Yelang's mother go again.
So far, your birthplace is still a mystery.
Longxi or Shandong, Qinglian Township or Broken Leaf City?
Why don't you go back to your hometown?
Where are you drunk? You said it was not a foreign country.
Missing is the only fate of genius.
Where are you going after you die?
Wolves don't cry, and Toure advises you not to cry.
As soon as I turned around, the four windows were bare.
Seven immortals and five friends can't save you.
Kuangshan was locked in the fog and there was no way to get in.
Still pure fire, just half a grain of cinnabar.
How to chase the rosy clouds in Nie Ge's tea?
The moon in the bottle, maybe that's your hometown.
Have you been looking up at it all your life?
Whether you go out to cry west or east.
Chang 'an has fallen.
Twenty-four Wan Li's return trip
There is no need to disturb Dapeng or recruit cranes.
Throw the glass into the air.
It spins into a flying saucer
The mysterious edge flashes faster and faster.
Take you back to the legend
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it the swaying green on your ridge or the beautiful flowers by the stream?
Is it the song of your boat coming back late, or the waterfall flowing in the mountain stream?
In my motherland, clouds become streams.
Cattle and sheep reflect clear waves, and distant mountains are slightly smoky.
Smoke curled up and danced into a woman's skirt.
The fields are gray, lighting up the farmers' songs.
Villages, crows and flutes converge into a stream.
Whose dream will the moon light up?
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it a wisp of willow brushing the water by the lake, or is it a faint smoke rising from the kitchen?
Is it a little water from the fountain or a little yellow on the butterfly's wings?
In my country, buildings are taller than the sunset.
The far tower provokes the sunset, and the yangko overflows the street.
Laughter, rolling traffic.
Iraqis' eyebrows sparkled with moonlight.
The red color of wine, the flash of silverware, the flow of music.
Keep the lights on all night
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it a smiling pine in Huangshan Mountain or a cloud floating from the brow?
Is it the fog of Lushan Mountain or Jiuzhai following the crowd?
Motherland, the bell beside the Maple Bridge is still ringing.
The wine from the west to Yangguan is not cold yet.
The forest beside the Great Wall is all red and crescent-shaped like a hook.
The watchman in Chang 'an is still awake.
Poetry in Tang and Song Dynasties danced on bluestone bricks.
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it a sad smile from Yue Fei or a sigh from Wen Tianxiang?
Is it the gale of Sun Yat-sen waving flags or the light of Lu Xun's brow?
My motherland, Qinhuai River, is still flowing.
I cried as much as I laughed.
The battery of Humen reflects the moon and gives off faint smoke.
The pines and cypresses in the mountains are shining and heroic.
Zhou Enlai's smile is still there, and the voice in front of Tiananmen Square is still there.
Monuments that have experienced wind and rain stand signposts.
Let people come and go in the March sun.
Motherland, what should I be to you?
Is it a smile on your face or a slight sadness?
Is it your elegant dress at the Eucharist, or is it a hidden injury?
Dear motherland, how can I love you?
Is to keep singing for you and constantly powder.
Or write a poem with conscience.
Say a word with my sincerity
Shout out your pain with my last breath.
Root my bones in the soil.
The green of oath grows year by year, and the light of perseverance increases day by day.
Motherland, how can I love you?
Dear motherland, I will always belong to you.
With my heart, my feelings, my love.
Write a song, singing happiness, sadness, bitterness and joy.
It's all my regrets.
My dear motherland, I will always be yours.
Always snuggle up to you and always listen to your heartbeat.
Recommended soundtrack: Dream Dunhuang