Modern Poetry of Sha Qiu Si in Tianjin

The faint clouds are the silks and satins of angels. These geese go south and fly to their hometown. They are arranged in geometric shapes and flapping their wings under angel silk, which seems to be a homecoming dance. The world was moved by it, and the soft light of the sun passed through the angel satin and cast a brilliant ocean of light. The laughter and laughter of geese and farmers when harvesting churned in the ocean of light, and the fish jumped. That's joy, needless to describe. It will embrace all the hearts. Except lonely migratory birds. Autumn is the harvest season! I used to agree with it, but now I forget this explanation of autumn. Autumn should be a melancholy season. People in a foreign land are still the heart of a hometown, a heart eager to go home, and a heart full of hometown flavor. Whenever I listen to its sigh, will I not be sad? Melancholy is my right mood in the autumn wind at the moment. I like the artistic conception of autumn, everything is faint. Light wind, light sunset, light Gui Xiang, light clouds. Also, it seems like a faint wave when you leave. Look at the vines that are yellow but strong and resolute by the embankment, look at several old trees that have gone through vicissitudes of life and are indifferent to water, and look at the crows whose lonely back is reflected by the dusk sunshine passing over the mountains. I thought I was as calm as water, but I still couldn't stop the breeze, ripples and bumps on the lake. I can't be completely calm inside, and my sadness is constantly being cut. Because the heart is quiet, the heart is dead. Sadness is broken, and memory is broken. Look up, there are people with lights not far away. Fire makes people feel warm. Because only the family had a fire before. I savored the small and simple stone bridge, and the flowing water under it never stopped, like years. I recall the feeling of going home in the past, and delicious food came to my face after I entered the door. Suddenly, I felt a sad and bitter atmosphere overflowing on this fallen leaf road. I ride a very thin horse. When the west wind rolled up the dust, it gently flashed its slender eyelashes. Suddenly, the air was filled with the wooden fragrance of guzheng. It makes my nose sour. The sun goes down, the sun goes down, the sun goes down ... I am still standing on this land far from home, but the wind blows away the liquid in my eyes. Sunlight makes clouds colorful. The clouds seem to be dancing. I lost my way home. The clouds continued to dance before the sun went down. That is joy, needless to say, it will embrace all hearts. Except me. Because I am a lonely migratory bird.