Mid-autumn festival prose poems

The poet is good at daydreaming, which endows the moon with layers of mysterious aura. Their inspiration often comes from the moon, which seems easy. Next, I collected the prose poems of Mid-Autumn Festival for your reference only, hoping to help you.

Chapter 1: On the Mid-Autumn Festival night, the moon is thousands of miles away, and acacia is countercurrent.

Speak softly, softly and clearly.

Life and death are rich, so I'm afraid.

Stubborn to send you, flowers bloom again and again.

The night is dim, the love of the whole city

Walking in a small street, the moon follows all the way, at the end of the cloud, watching the trees meet a round of moonlight.

Remember the story of the Goddess Chang'e flying to the moon? Sad and intoxicating, Dai Wangxing Dai Yue smells like a dream.

The residual flowers are messed up, the beauty is cold, the tears are drunk and lonely. In retrospect, everything seemed like a dream.

This Mid-Autumn Festival, there is no warmth of childhood, only full of care, only shadow company, only a heart full of land.

I am used to watching the gentle night in the tide, locking my memory in a green time, and moving forward with anxiety in the half-bright and half-dark days.

Sigh, time flies, through the morning sunshine. Watching in the dark, you can't wash away the dust and see the scenery out of the water.

A song of acacia, a drizzle, a dream.

Pink time, secular fireworks, lush, forever.

Fireworks city, the Mid-Autumn Festival is full of cold moon, long eyes, and silver bamboo autumn paintings monopolize the bright moon.

The moon is full of dreams, bamboo fire on the clouds, bamboo fire on the clouds, watching the bright moon, watching the night hazy, like water and autumn waves.

If time can be frozen, please let me stay where I am forever.

Chapter 2: See also the Mid-Autumn Festival is full, and the clouds and fresh water are clear.

It's another full moon, and it's twice as bright.

The moon in the sky, the moon in the water and the moon near the water tower.

Is it Zeng geometry? I hate the impermanence of the moon, but I hope it will stay with me forever.

Autumn is crisp and white.

Life is rare, and tonight is worth a thousand dollars.

You can get it, but you can't buy it.

How long is a person's life span? Sigh at the morning dew, I hope people miss it.

I have been thinking about Shenzhou for nine days. The Goddess Chang'e flying to the moon, dreams come true.

A thousand-year-old legend, the dream of the ancients, has been fulfilled today.

I miss Chang 'e, but I haven't slept at this time. Raise a glass to the moon, and lead a drunken life.

Chang 'e dance, full moon, the time of heaven and earth.

Chapter 3: Mid-Autumn Festival, watching the metamorphosis of a green cicada in the eyes of the law, imagining that some flying grass seeds planted the idea of the next reincarnation at the end of the season.

Looking at the familiarity of a ridge of rice ears and imagining the luster of those sweats, the glorious days are getting richer and richer.

Looking at the rich kitchen smoke, imagining the imagination embedded in early spring, arching out fertile soil, revealing hidden sounds to the earth and dumping sunshine and rain.

Mid-Autumn Festival, unique light and shadow, lush green, has long been empty and deserted.

The sickle cut off the vines of the years and turned the endless watch into a season's harvest.

Soybeans, sorghum, wheat, and those mature ears of rice are fermented in the moonlight of the Mid-Autumn Festival, and many heavy thoughts are getting lighter and lighter. Many lonely sighs are becoming more and more elegant and chic.

In addition, many thoughts with low eyebrows and drooping heads, through the smoke, the sweetness of moon cakes and my father's beard, turned 10 thousand reverie into a fragrance of Song poetry.

Back to the south of Yanguo, in the countryside, in the city, in the first-line intervention in the watch, cooked the original coffee of time.

In this watch, I turned myself into a piece of moonlight, listening to the whispers of autumn quietly with the wayward wind.

Shake the red leaves one after another, write a letter from home on the more and more scarlet leaves, greet his wife, his old man and children, can the Mid-Autumn Festival table be filled with concerned meals?

Article 4: When I was a child, when the Mid-Autumn Festival was full,

The moon in Mid-Autumn Festival is a cake made by my mother.

The soft light,

Light, but thick;

Grow up,

The moon in Mid-Autumn Festival is the smiling face of lovers.

That shy expectation,

Affectionate, but deep;

After marriage,

The moon in Mid-Autumn Festival is a child's eye.

Those clear eyes,

Innocent, but dreamy;

In middle age,

The moon in Mid-Autumn Festival is a homesick complex.

That distant homesickness,

Weak, but deep.

Chapter Five: Wandering of Mid-Autumn Moon-Reflections on Reunion and Parting.

It's the Mid-Autumn Festival for Wanderers.

Tianhe straight into the giants, overwhelming urban desert.

Night shadows nourish dreams and condense the oasis of the soul.

A runaway child.

Suddenly, I was unfamiliar with the flashy beauty in front of me.

I miss my mother

Mend the old worries under the old house

Tears drift along the autumn leaves.

Hanging on the dry eyelashes of the treetops at the entrance to the village.

There was a stop.

A lonely boat with a bright moon reunion

miss

If it weren't for the years.

Maybe I forgot you.

There are always so many reasons to break up.

When we meet, we feel far apart.

Moon in Mid-Autumn Festival

Still so single-minded year after year

Quadruple fate

Interlaced between lost clutches

Walking with wandering eyes.

Flowing through the wanderer's post station.

Waited all night

An empty ship has no words.

think

Touch the moonlight on your head

Combing deep feelings

Chang 'e's fingers slipped through the long hair of the night.

ChanJuan jade arm holding a meteor home.

A lone boat in the moonlight

Ghosts rippling on the lake

The change of thought

Duckweed hanging from the green hills.

Look up at the autumn wind

Stick it in the bronze mirror of flowing clouds in the dream.

Solidify into traces

The back of a dusty kiss

Four or five

Mid-Autumn Festival is the ancestor of reunion.

True feelings are the mother of reunion.

The full moon can't hide the direction of Iraq's separation.

Iraqis can't leave their full moon reunion home.

Wandering soul

Even if the wandering world is colorful and trendy.

Think and understand feelings

Still engraved with the simplicity of the Millennium.

The bright moon drifts with autumn.

Drift to the horizon at the foot of the mountain that breeds dawn

Raise a hand.

Pure loess in my hometown