The winter of modern poetry has come.

Winter is coming.

First of all, people are caught off guard.

Fall sparsely

Every rain is colder than every one.

Smash pieces of crumbling dead leaves

Then wash off the residual green on the branches.

You must put your sweet hopes

Hidden in the longing for warmth

Go into helpless hibernation

The white clouds are sinking gradually.

Sink until the dust sinks to the ground

In the dead of night

Turn into clouds. Fog.

Before the sun comes out

Hide and seek with the whole world.

Only when the veil is like a curtain.

Can decorate a hazy beauty.

The birdsong in front of and behind the building gradually disappeared.

Cold seems to block a lot of noise.

When the sun is warm and bright.

Sparrows foraging for food will fly down.

At this time, there is always a question in my heart.

This winter is really not like winter.

There is no obvious feature of north wind and heavy snow.

I really dare not say loudly-winter is coming!