I beg you for modern poetry. If possible, compile it yourself. It should be longer, not short. It is a children's poem. If it is good, I will add 20 points. I beg you! ! ! !

Where the Moon Rises

Author: Xiaodao

The Moon Rises

There is the sound of an eagle returning to its nest

There are fish jumping out of the blue light

There is the sound of the piano interpreting ancient legends

Many unknown eyes

Falling on the white birch trees and blinking

Revealing wisdom and arrogance

At night

But throwing it to the moon

Infinite tenderness

It was also that night

Those pasted on the window

Window grilles cut out by grandma

Wrapped in ice flowers

In my dream< /p>

Melted

"I Love This Land" (Ai Qing)

If I were a bird,

I should also use hoarse The throat sings:

This land battered by storms,

This river that always surges with our sorrow and anger,

This endless blowing The angry wind blowing,

And the extremely gentle dawn coming from the forest...

——Then I died,

Even the feathers rotted Inside the land.

Why do I always have tears in my eyes?

Because I love this land deeply...

Winter wind

Winter wind is the most naughty,

like naughty Adan,

likes to tease others.

Oh, look!

He secretly took the watercolor and

wiped everyone’s noses red,

but laughed loudly beside them.

Straw hat

The small holes in the straw hat

are the doors I open to the sunshine

< p>Look at the sunshine coming through

They stepped on my shadow playfully

My shadow left their footprints

. Spring Birds

The spring bird is a good friend of the golden voice

Every morning early in the morning

Wake me up from my dream

Mom said the spring bird She is calling me

She wants me to go to the big forest with her

Listen to the beautiful chorus of nature

Snowflakes

It’s the little angel pulling on the pillow

The shaken goose feathers

are scattered all over the floor

Snowflakes

It’s Sky Mother< /p>

Lent the cotton wool to the earth

so that it can be used as a warm quilt

Snowflakes

is Santa Claus

A gift to us

I wish every teenager and child health and happiness

I will eventually leave,

People will eventually grow up.

No matter how good your childhood is,

you cannot close yourself in the childishness and innocence of childhood.

No matter how much Ye Xiaohe is worthy of nostalgia,

I cannot spend all the years with Ye Xiaohe forever.

It is a very small place after all.

Only outside,

can there be a vast and rich world.

Even for the hometown where I was raised,

Only by making a difference in the wider world can I be considered better. repay.

Actually,

the river will not stay forever,

in that relatively closed world,

it will also grow up .

When it grows up,

it will also rush outside.

Same as me.

My mother is a big tree.

My mother is a big tree.

I am a little bird on the tree.

Every day, in my mother’s eyes Around me,

are jumping up and down with joy.

When it’s hot, my mother gives me green shade,

The green leaves play a hypnotic tune;

When it’s cold, my mother hugs me tightly,

< p>Snowflakes compose the song of spring.

Ah, mother,

No matter where I fly in the future,

I will never forget,

This green forest top.

Mom is a fertile soil,

I am a seedling,

The fertile soil nourishes me,

Let me grow taller day by day.

Mom's love,

gives me a green life,

gives me a field of life,

a mature laughter.

Ah, mother,

I am like the ears of grain,

with a heavy salute,

Thank you for your contribution to raising me.

Mom is the blue harbor,

I am the sail sailing away from the harbor,

With your blessings and expectations,

Pave the way forward for me.

I know that there will be

rapids, reefs, and storms ahead,

Mother’s harbor,

will embrace me at any time embrace.

Ah, Mom,

No matter what stormy waves I encounter,

I will run towards the goal firmly,

There will never be Not shaken at all.

<>

Snowflakes

are the goose feathers shaken off by the little angel pulling on the pillow

p>Scattered all over the floor

Snowflakes

It is the cotton wool rented by Sky Mother

to the earth

so that it can keep it warm The quilt

Snowflakes

is a gift from Santa Claus

I wish every child health and happiness

I am busy

I am busy,

I am busy,

I am busy shaking up the torch,

I am busy sculpting myself,

I am busy moving the marching drums and cymbals,

I am busy playing the reed flute welcoming the spring,

I am busy posing for happiness. Forecast,

I am busy gathering news of the truth,

I am busy recruiting the tree of life and transplanting it into the jungle of battle,

I am busy brewing the fermented blood into Love juice.

Until one day I die,

I sleep like a tail in a smiling pond,

I will turn off the lights and rest,

I , to have a beautiful completion,

Like a collection of poems;

And the earth that covers me,

is the cover of that collection of poems.

I am busy,

I am busy.

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Fountain of Poems (Ten Poems) )

1 Dusk

Miller’s evening bell on the wall rang by my silence,

The Holy Spirit who rode a donkey to Jerusalem The reporter has not come back yet.

Ignore the cunning look of the lamp,

Please tell me: Who lit the first match?

Road 2

The wheels of the cart, the hooves of the horse, the flashing horn, the hunting flag,

The untired will is moving forward.

Why complain about those guilt-free shoes?

You! An extinguished torch, a fish in a dry pond.

3 Expectation

Each silver raindrop is a beating word,

The wildly igniting lightning is the title of a line of action people.

Wake up from the threshold of the night, scold the black cat of my dream away,

Listen to the rolling thunder to report sunny news to me.

4 Clouds

Don’t walk on the roof of my blue sky anymore [

My pigeons once informed you: I am not a believer in the gallery school.

See how I torture this shovel-shaped queen with a pencil sharpener,

You will understand: This season should allow the fruit to ripen quickly.

5 Summer

White hot. White hot. The voice of the pioneer calling.

Decline. decline. The weight of the love of the blood bearer.

When the phoenix is ??flying into the blazing fire,

Why do I still sleep in the shade of the cross to enjoy the coolness.

6 Birds

Fly into the poetry collection of the old Indian poet, jump on the palm of the Queen of Persia,

What about me? Silence is like a mute, stupid and without wings.

Aristophane once brought his vision into the theater,

The country of France's penguins has no port for me to dock.

7 Diary

Yesterday, Tan. Close the narrow door of the soul,

Schiller’s robber at the Night Banquet, Nietzsche’s Superman.

Today, it’s sunny. Keep your camera sharp and take pictures of Van Gogh's sunflowers and Rodin's spring.

8 Hunting

There are hunters with guns in the mountain villages,

Don’t laugh wildly, owls.

There is a girl who sucks water in the desert.

Camel bell, please don’t tell me your loneliness and sorrow.

9 Confession

My faith cannot be imprisoned in the underground kiln of Zantigon

Only those who make counterfeit coins are always afraid of the sun.

On the Day of Judgment, the prodigal will return home.

If the wheat does not die, where will we harvest the grain?

10 Tears

The lullaby injected too much haziness into the veins at the cradle,

Until I woke up today, I realized that I had been abandoned by the sea. of shells.

Hands that have kissed the soil cannot hold the beaded Song of Songs.

The fountain of this poem comes from the painful Nero.

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Nostalgia

< p>In the past, I was a king, happy and rich,

The princess next door was my beautiful wife.

We harvested the pearls of sorghum, the gems of corn, and the gold paper hanging on the old elm trees.

What now? Now I am broke.

Pop songs and neon lights make my mind anemic.

Standing on the streets of insanity,

I don’t know where to go.

------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------

The dying star

p>

Gently, I want to gently

Use a silver paper knife

Cut the veins of the blue river,

Let the melancholy and sadness

overflow with anger.

Facing a dying star,

I forgot the tears crawling on my face.

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Flowers and Fruits

Flowers are silent music,

The fruits are the most moving books,

When they are played in the spring and published in the autumn,

My days

Been bitten and twisted mercilessly by the gears of the timepiece;

Fragments of my heart were scattered in the courtyard,

Under the steps. I let out a sigh.