In the spring of March, the snowflakes in the north finally left.
With a touch of spring breeze, many poets' thoughts were awakened.
Soft soil breeds green grass buds,
The pageant of poetry is like a gurgling spring,
Break the ice and pour thousands of miles.
What is poetry,
I often ask myself and my friends,
Poetry is a kind of freedom that carries feelings.
Poetry is a carefully rendered picture;
The blue sky is high, and several white clouds are around.
He wrote many poems for heaven,
Pingchuan is far away, and several poplars enter the sky.
Who makes the space full of infinite loneliness,
When the river surges, it will stir up a thousand waves.
Played a stirring movement for the rock,
Cangshan is not old, but a few yellow flowers shine.
Who influenced the winding mountain roads in Shan Ye,
Outside the sunset wall of the village, wisps of smoke curled up,
Who painted the earth with seven colors,
This is heaven, this is a green field,
Is it the sound of the piano or the smell of birds and flowers,
Neither,
It is a poem that is sung, and it is the poet's emotional appeal.
Listen, listen carefully,
The wind blows bamboo leaves, and the drums in Qin and Han dynasties hit each other like knives;
Rain hits the banana, and autumn insects sing a sad and touching swan song;
The music was weak, and Sian curled up.
Beautiful poems sing the spring here,
People with emotional talents flow their thoughts here.
Senior beauty lets passion splash here,
Good feelings make desire soar here,
Poetry is the eyes of lovers,
It is an emotion flowing in the artistic conception of love and beauty.
When you are far away from home,
Poetry is a nostalgia,
When you are in a good mood,
Poetry is a bottle of old wine,
When your passion burns,
Poetry is a lighted fire,
When you are lonely and sad,
Poetry is a greeting that soothes the soul.
Poetry is the hand of friendship,
Poetry is a rich autumn,
Poetry is a beautiful girl,
Poetry is a romantic ark.
Full of joys and sorrows in your life,
Carrying your life's ideals and pursuits.
Beautiful poems are like beautiful dreams.
Are available, but not ideal,
In the dead of night, when you are asleep, poetry comes gently.
Poetry silently takes away the artistic conception in the fragrance of morning dew,
It's sadness, it's deep sadness,
Neither-it's a touch of sadness.
There is also a trace of beauty in intoxication and sadness.
There is also a trace of deep affection for the past in sadness.
Several degrees of wind and rain, several degrees of spring and autumn,
Loneliness, achievement,
The spring breeze remains unchanged,
You took me to admire the willows by the river,
The drizzle is gentle,
You took me to listen to the chickens chirping in the tree,
Wonderful light music makes Can Xue say goodbye here,
Lyric prose poems let aestheticism stay here.
Beautiful rainbow after rain.
True friendship is after parting,
Your life is not autumn,
Don't worry about loneliness and sadness,
Spread enthusiasm and positive energy,
It will make your contacts flow like water.
Find your cultural friends.
Come on, find something new for the desire in your heart.
How far a person can go depends on who he walks with;
How good a person is depends on what kind of friends he has around him;
How much a person can achieve depends on who he has guidance;
How beautiful a person is depends on whether he holds hands with poetry or not. An umbrella lasted for a long time,
The rain stopped and refused to accept it;
There is a bunch of flowers that have been smelling for a long time.
Withered and refused to lose;
There is a friendship that I hope will last forever.
Even if the hair turns white,
Can also be deeply preserved in my heart.
Smile, not because you have been happy for too long,
Too long, I can't forget the sad look back.
Years are like the sea, friendship is like a boat,
Poetry and songs;
It is never too late to get to know each other,
The bright sunshine bathes the oasis with green grass,
Years don't feel old,
The clear river is full of ships of friendship.
I accidentally came to the cultural salon,
I can't help showing an oasis of emotion,
By returning to the youth classroom,
It depends on the feeling of first love in youth.
If literature is a green field,
Poetry is a piece of wheat harvest.
If art is a landscape,
Poetry is colored silk,
Colorful flowers are blooming,
Like a song, like a cry, like a chivalrous man,
I'm here, my heart is surging,
I'm in there, my blood is flowing,
Is the infection of poetry excitement,
It's time for passion to burn,
Where is love? Love is in spring.
Where there is love, love is eternal,
Love is in wet eyes,
Love the warm afternoon under the setting sun.