Poetry

Text/lobule

Read a poem

Read about a person's aging.

His youth is gone forever.

Love is far away.

The children scattered like birds.

He is holding an empty nest.

He thinks he is a tree.

Cracking sound of dead branches

It often happens at night.

In winter

When the snow comes,

But at the end of this poem,

The sunshine and rain are still so abundant.

New branches have sprouted from his wound.

He is holding an empty nest.

Walking on the border of Fiona Fang Shili

He believed

Just raise the nest high enough.

Birds will see it.

Will fly back one day.

for this reason

He often has to stand on tiptoe.

Children in the snow

Snow is hidden in its own white.

Its white is in the sun.

More like a big lie.

If the crow appears in the snow.

Its black color is closer to reality.

Children don't care about this.

They like both black and white.

That kind of unrestrained happiness

How many adults have attracted envy?

-Just like the earth envies the sky.

Rock sheep envy flying.

Dusk time

When the sun came to the beam of three old people

We'll come up with one

Lighthearted words: at night

People who work in the fields

Untie the yoke on the cow.

Start packing farm tools

The woman picked up the prepared backpack.

Dig two handfuls of pig grass quickly.

The man took the cow to a fertile place with water and grass.

Let it eat grass and drink water leisurely.

Find a higher place to sit down.

Watching the sunset melt gold

Look at your woman.

colleague

vernal

Maybe we should add beautiful ones.

Just across the street.

Only when she is free.

When you meditate,

I just gave her a serious look.

is she

The truest look

Including that little freckle.

Everything is just right.

Blooming desire

Please understand the meaning of this impulse.

Don't make any noise

Do not move.

Don't fiddle with it

The half-open core of morning glory

This brief and beautiful impulse.

Could be interrupted at any time.

An old book was turned over by the wind.

Tonight, the world is blessed by rain.

There are stamens trembling in the rain.

Those exciting shoulders

Much like that woman many years ago.

Sobbing after lovelorn.

So vivid.

We are all used to loneliness.

Accustomed to the silence in the night rain

Doing nothing under the west window

An old book was turned over by the wind.

The person standing behind the word

Already grown up

Have a flowery face.

There is also confusion about looking around.

Occasionally there will be pauses and stumbling.

Sitting on the ruins of an old house drinking.

Sitting on the ruins of an old house drinking.

One bite after another.

Not far away, fireflies appeared.

I slowly lifted my cup.

I can't help but stop again.

I always feel that there is a soul there.

Homeless souls need bright guidance.

A firefly

It's just a flashing light.

I suddenly feel like sitting on the ruins of an old house drinking.

Maybe it's just a body.

Wonderful moment

Happy moment

Happy time

Hand in hand

Give up your heart.

Hand over tears, first kiss and eyes.

The soul stays aside.

Drive a wooden carriage

Wait at the crossroads

Sometimes I see it this way.

When you look at it,

A storm of joy

Just a little weak.

Like a cold wind

Blow over the swollen silk surface

Read this poem

Not all the time of the day.

Are suitable for reading poetry.

For example, in the stuffy and hot noon.

For this reason, I miss autumn.

Or winter

Autumn or winter in the south

Poetry is not only hidden in the jungle of books.

They often sneak out.

If you ...

Is a person who loves outdoor sports.

Unexpectedly, you will meet a song.

Walking poem

Is being read by the rock eagle.

A quiet poem

Is being read by clouds.

An atmospheric poem

Is being read by the mountains.

A poem that travels through time and space

Reading by the river.

If you are not a greedy person.

Listen to it and you'll get drunk.

Drunk in the mountains and rivers in the south

If you want to read a song, too

Take a piece of red maple in your hand.

Or draw a few petals of snow.

Just do it.

Everything around, including the arhats in Tiefo Temple.

Larks in Micang Mountain

Are all your listeners

Brief introduction of the author

Xiaoye, whose real name is Li Zhengguo, is from Wangcang, Sichuan. Member of Chinese Poetry Society and Guangyuan Writers Association. Some of his works were published in Poetry magazine, China Poets and other newspapers, and some of his works were selected as "China's Good Poetry" in China Poetry Network. Poetic view: obedient to the heart, light and natural.