The first modern poem by Frost 1 The midnight bell pierced the misty fog.
You get on the boat that comes home late,
Floating on the attachment of the yellow land,
I watched quietly.
People's hearts float on water, but people's hearts slide on ice.
The human heart germinates in the water,
Cultivate a green desire.
I come from the blue planet,
I ran through secular water.
I am full of admiration for the charming spring scenery.
I accelerated my pursuit of the sea,
The stone of my mind floats on the sea,
With the blue sea breeze drifting in the distance!
In the sea, the clouds are full of vitality.
Covering the distance within my power,
I saw the image of the spring breeze,
Spying on the lingering sound in history,
In its dim shadow,
A horse with time to hiss!
Swallows migrate in rainy days,
On its black face,
I saw the scenery along the way,
Without the leisurely whisper of moonlight,
The spell you cast
From my hazy dream,
In the morning, your arrow travels in the wilderness.
Swallows fly down in rainy days!
The first frost was in the sea.
The first frost forecast.
Swallow's soul flies over the sea.
Swallow's mind was drowned.
Swallows pass through the first frost,
I heard the call from the depths of the sea,
Our ancestors ran on the sea.
Swallows fly down on rainy days,
Sheep running out of history books,
Surging in the rolling wheat waves.
Golden June, wheat yellow June,
Wheat whimpered in its mother's sickle,
Groaning in maternal love.
The first frost appeared in the wheat field,
The first frost cried in the sun,
Mother's sickle is still waving,
I looked at my mother in the first frost,
I looked at the sunshine in the first frost.
I learned to cry in the first frost,
Swallows flew down during the first frost.
I walked through the ancient Roman city in the first frost,
On the ruins of a thousand years,
On the seven mountain city-states,
I can't find my palatino Palace,
I'm not Romono, and I'm not Remo,
There are no bones of mine in the rubble,
I control the wind direction,
On the Mediterranean coast,
Waiting for a pure white first frost,
The monsoon blows me,
The world moves with the wind,
At the end of the epicenter,
Swallows flew down during the first frost.
The first frost was on the rocks,
A black phantom jumped out of the rock,
The rocks are bathed in deep wind at night,
You sink into the water,
Bright light lies flat on the water,
Without the tenderness of dragonflies,
Green grass grows in rocks,
The grass is dim,
The moon rises in the water,
The grass was yellow yesterday,
Rocks reject true feelings,
Reject the fate in reincarnation,
Refuse to grow naturally,
The rock can only remain silent,
Only when you look out in the wind and rain,
Rock! Rock! Answer me!
The first frost on the wings,
Rocks learn to fly,
In red water, dreams are limited to models,
Take off in the autumn of the first frost,
Or, indifference,
The first frost is warmer than the stone,
In the center of the burning stone,
There's huge magma,
A huge fire is burning,
Flames are everywhere, and in the bright universe,
The magma surged violently,
Burning violently,
Like child stars,
There's a huge halo inside,
In the dim moonlight,
Increase the bargaining chip of historical change,
My star falls on the wild goose mountain in the west,
Pick up the falling stars,
The widow read the prophecy with difficulty,
He can't move, he flies over Wan Li,
In the forbidden area where mountains and rivers are heavy,
Hope to have a bright future,
On the equator near the subtropics,
Your fiery heart,
Hidden in the shadow of many years ago,
At the moment when the dripping hole passes through,
Swallows flew down during the first frost,
I accelerated my call for truth and true feelings,
The star of tomorrow is not a star,
The star of tomorrow begins to warm all mankind!
First, Frost's modern poem 2 Before water vapor turns into ice.
Gather all the warmth.
Based on the elegance of reed flowers and the chirping of kingfishers.
Say good happiness, only you and me.
Choose an ideal city and cook a pot of old wine.
All sweet words are warm, that is,
all one's life
Enter late autumn
The newly cut moon shadow adorns the beauty of the earth.
Can't bear to lift the veil and dance gracefully.
The figure standing by the water moves with the equatorial latitude.
Slowly, at this time.
Don't mention clean water, don't say autumn grass withered.
Only the moon approaches the city.
There is an old saying: "The first frost kills a hundred herbs."
A concentrated flower is destined to pull out a charming one.
The spirit of the cluster "Huang Furong" in The Sun is frankly analyzed.
-We won't favor any one this season.
I also heard that the old man next door
Persimmons have been suffering from whooping cough for many years after eating frost.
The first frost is close at hand.
People who know how to live are fearless.
I believe the air will be fresher after cooling.
Transition, a deeper step in the season.
Poetry is thin, affection is strong, the sunset is near, and the mountains are far away.
Scattered all over the floor, showing a retro yellow roll.
It seems nothing. Look carefully.
Still full of eyes
"I don't know the music of Pinellia, and the philosophers decide the future."
The modern poem of the First Frost: the mark of flowers blooming and falling.
Stained by the rings of the season.
I condensed the cold dew into frost.
That sad face is no longer full of tears.
I can't fly.
I'll cry into frost
Like snow on a chrysanthemum face.
As she slowly aged into ruins.
I am cold, but I am very picky.
My date of birth
It's the moon and stars in late autumn.
I am stingy, but I have snowflakes.
Although I am beautiful, I am out of place with the sun.
I am heartless, and in these years,
The rest is gorgeous.
Also withered in my cold.
Even white reeds
I won't let go of those yellow leaves as soon as possible
Also issued a final sigh.
Hide your strength and wait for the autumn wind.
Also help abuse, take away.
What little warmth I have left.
So, I am like a sword.
Cut off all love and enthusiasm
Let those weak lives
Only hibiscus is dying.
Still standing upright
As a result, the world was depressed.
The earth is boundless, even so.
The singing stream seems to be still.
I feel an undercurrent around me.
Cold weather is coming.
Facing the smell of winter, ready to go.
I will come to a bad end.
But I won't regret it
I'll cheer-
It's winter.
Can spring be far behind?