Wild geese fly south, and bare branches call for winter in the air; The moonlight began to tear the night and my heart began to break.
The branches that don't give up parting are full of melancholy clouds. Yearning, like a condor, not afraid of the cold; Looking at the south, you will not be left out in the cold.
In winter, in the cool breeze, in cynicism, waving bare branches and calling me step by step.
In winter, I shouted more than once, urging me to set out and find the way to live before. Tears covered with frost, miss the burning years of passion.
Pray helplessly, listen to the wind, and choose the direction toward the place designated by the wind.
Sasha vujacic sobbed, made a final farewell, then resolutely hid, and then gradually forgotten by people.
two
Time is the necessary wheel of farming, crushing rice grains, swallowing them, and grinding the soul in the stomach. This should be the commitment of one life to another.
Walking in autumn, accompanied by dense sorghum, I am a little scared and homesick.
As dusk approached, the urchin kept calling, "No, no, the sun has set." Dusk is coming, there is not much left, so we can't miss it.
The sky is getting darker and darker, the stars are getting brighter and brighter, and the round moon keeps staring at me, and then I can't see the bright moonlight anymore.
Light up the Milky Way at night and follow the bright Beidou to find the place where the smoke falls.
three
When geese fly south, I don't want to leave the branches far away; And dreaming of the south, will it be lonely?
When winter came, I clung to the accompanying branches, but the north wind adjusted the temperature so that I couldn't breathe.
I escaped the autumn water, but I couldn't escape the snow after the first frost.
Begging helplessly, telling helplessly with the autumn wind, silently painting the colors of the branches.
I am eager to raise my roots, don't freeze in the snow, and hope to see my shadow when the geese come next year.
four
Autumn wind rustling, sparse red leaves have exposed all the nests, crows have nowhere to hide, and those magpies are singing, which seems to be a kind of retention.
I left, leaving only bare branches and leaves, crows and magpies, sleeping naked, a little worried about whether I would escape the eyes of natural enemies.
five
Summer longs for the winter wind.
But, God, earth, how can winter bring Xia Feng? Hot and cold, this may be sandwiched between summer and winter, and that bohemian autumn is playing tricks on it. Wash my color repeatedly, tease my mind repeatedly.
The road sign is engraved with the winter code. Occasionally, I found that this winter has come, and there are still green leaves standing on the roadside.
Keep my companion, and there is a pine tree standing intact, with two eyes staring at me, but I can't see winter except this pine tree. There was fog in the forest, and I lost the road sign in the distance, so I chose the distance according to the will of the wind.
six
The cold wind beat the trembling yellow leaves. The wind blows, and I smell autumn.
In the autumn breath, there are fragrant burnt potatoes and burnt corn.
seven
The blue sky is naked with a white belly, stroking the top of my hair wantonly. I want to take off all the clothes dyed yellow, even a little leisure.
The wind blew and rustled, but I bowed my head and said softly, "It's time to start, winter is coming."
Editor's Note: It was written on June 2, 2020 165438+ and published in June 20201China Soul magazine.
About the poet: Lu Youcheng, pen name: Seabuckthorn. A native of Helinger County, Inner Mongolia, was born in February 1963, graduated from North China Electric Power University, and wrote more than 30 academic papers. I like writing poems after my major. He is a member of the Western Prose Society and the director of Young Writers magazine. His articles often appear on literary platforms and magazines.
Mainly based on local literature, readers are welcome to contribute, and the email address is 23885800@qq com.
No 1 1 of 2020 (total number 20 1 1)