Harvest
A pair of old hands covered with calluses
Working hard on the pastoral paper
The clumsy hoe, sickle
These are my cherished handwritings
The pen and ink stained with sweat
I will harvest each piece
Simple and unpretentious Poetry in the soil
Poetry flows in the earth
Poetry rhymes in pots and pans
Playing with oil and salt Sauce and Vinegar
The song of restlessness, rush and tiredness
Chickens, ducks, pigs and geese are an indispensable part of poetry
My every The poem was born
where the smoke from the kitchen was floating
on the thatched roofs of the small mountain village,
next to the winding bridge and flowing water
My A little poem
You are a bright sunshine under the blue sky
You are a gurgling attachment and love flowing around the village
A clear river
You are a hill
Always waiting silently by the roadside of the village
You are a strong grass growing by the roadside in the snow, rain, wind and frost
Year after year
My poetic spirit
In the fields
Growing hard and strong
My poetry is like a flying bird
Flying and singing over the fields where the golden rice waves are rolling
Flying and singing over the fiery red sorghum
Flying through the peapod band with jingle bells
Flying through the autumn celebrations with apples hanging all over the mountain in red lanterns
Joyful songs all the way and crystal tears all the way
Turn into white jade butterflies in early winter
And fly into my pastoral poems with joy
Each of my poems was born
where the smoke from the kitchen is floating< /p>
The roof of the small mountain village
Beside the winding bridge and flowing water
In the spring, I planted a dream
My eyes are full of hope< /p>
Looking forward to autumn
Harvest the fragrance of my poem