When the ice on the earth tears out the sound of joy
When the snow-capped mountains stretch out bright red and green skin
When the warm sunshine is getting earlier every day.
On Xiao Mu's bed in the cabin.
I began to wait.
Waiting for last year
1 1
Birds flying south in June
At that time-
They went straight over our heads.
Quietly, supercilious, fly to the south.
pass
200
A great lake miles away.
Because they know the laws of Wisconsin
From dawn to night arrival
Every swamp and pond
Aim at them with a shotgun
The crow sat on the branch.
Look at their straight flight path
The dark color suddenly turned red.
In the warm southern land
They wandered on the wide water.
They are picking up corn kernels in the newly harvested corn field.
Until the spring quietly flew north.
three
Monthly rest time
These geese got rid of their fears.
They turned around along the winding river.
They passed through quiet hunting spots and small continents.
Whisper to every beach
Like whispering to a long-lost friend.
They are very low, very low.
Wandering in swamps and grasslands
Say hello to every newly melted puddle and pond.
They tentatively circled over the swamp.
Flap your black wings slowly.
Slide quietly to the pond.
As soon as they touched the water, they sang happily.
It seems that they caused a sensation.
Can shake off the fragile cattail in winter.
Our wild goose
Come back again!
In the corn field after the spring harvest.
These geese come every day.
Before each departure
There was a loud and interesting debate.
And every time before the reunification, the arguments are louder.
Like a withered maple leaf.
They shook down from the sky.
They cheered the birds below.
Stretch out your happy feet
They communicate in a low voice.
It seems to be discussing the value of food
four
The night of this month is very warm.
We sat outside and listened.
The cry of wild geese when they meet in the swamp.
For a long time, all was silent.
But suddenly,
Harsh goose calls.
Accompanied by a hurried and chaotic echo
The flapping of wings on the water
The sound of webbed oars
There are also heated debates among the audience.
Then there was a deep voice.
It's the last speech.
The noisy scene gradually died down.
I can only hear some vague and sparse conversations.
five
Month-the season when Pulsatilla blooms.
Our swamp
It's full of the smell of grass again.
Red-winged blackbird and black-faced frog
Give life to the wet swamp.
The gathering of geese is gradually decreasing.
look up
A flock of geese are already in the clear sky.
Draw a smooth line
For the offline earth
They quietly sown golden corn kernels.
And a useful and harmless poem with wildness.