A beautiful modern poem about trees 1 My heart is too small for ants, earthworms and sparrows.
Or a short plant as happy as a vinegar willow.
Only houses, yards and chicken nests built under the earth cliff can be accommodated.
Or an open toilet. My heart is not high enough.
She is like a sharp but not sharp thorn on a jujube tree, and tears when the wind blows.
The yellow flowers on the twigs are more like rice grains.
Narrow eyes can only see rugged, barren and poor.
Those naked qualities are wild. I was born with them.
Survive for many years; It was still a string when I left.
Very United. I often think of the red fruit of Rosa roxburghii.
He clenched his fist and stood by with grass seeds.
Fell into the gap between the village and the hillside. Those little fists
Those clenched fists are as hard as stones.
As long as you put your shoulders away, you can keep warm.
As long as you lower your waist, you can survive the winter.
Half a hillside, a handful of dry wood, a slate and a handful of wet soil.
There are three newly dug yam eggs. Lunch in autumn
Feeding an empty childhood, on the mountain that day.
Smoke is straighter than poplar, and sunshine is thinner than sand.
A teenager lay on the hillside and watched the white clouds for a while.
He said, that's my flock, when the sun goes down.
I want to drive them home. Yes, that day
I rode on the back of dusk and drove the sheep back there.
Square yard, the stone house in the sunset is very short.
I grew up under the eaves, and my heart has always been low.
It's too low to reach anything. I have been away from you for more than thirty years.
My heart is like a slate at night when I think of you.
The quiet moonlight spreads like fine sand by the river.
Like dust under the beams, like in the attic.
Millet in Huang Chengcheng ... Summer, grain in a jar.
It's very cold. My stomach is as small as my hometown.
A bowl of millet soup survived 40 Koharu.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 2 Sitting on a stone wall, I am half taller than you.
I'm just sitting on the stone wall studying your standing posture.
I won't reach out. I know you are afraid of waterlogging, drought-tolerant, and prickly.
I just want to smell you. A pepper.
As bright as a blood bead stuck on my finger, I didn't reach out.
You spent many years in the yard next door, in the eyes of the villagers.
Deciduous shrubs are also trees. I allow you to reach out to the courtyard wall.
Those taupe arms have serrated leaves.
With sharp thorns, it looks like dates.
I allow you to put your arm out of the courtyard wall, as long as a jujube tree.
The wind-proof stone wall can't stop your fragrance.
You can stretch out your hand, stretch out your thorns, and put the fragrance and fragrance.
Wrapped tightly, spicy. One arm after another.
Swelling pimples, strange taste like cloudy days.
The houses on both sides of the courtyard wall are high and low, and I can see your hardships clearly.
I am your neighbor and live the same spicy life as you.
I won't compare with the hawthorn trees on this side of the courtyard wall.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 3. The wind and sand blew through the city and left home for at least 50 years.
The oldest pear tree in Nanshan still stands on the top of the mountain.
Close to the wind, far from the sand, half lonely.
The shape of a giant umbrella, humble fruit, and bad luck.
Du pear trees can be seen everywhere on the earth beams swaying in the wind. That spring,
I moved a tree back to the yard and my father grafted it on a pear tree.
My father is a teacher, who was destroyed by the disaster in the city in the 1960s.
Throw it back to your hometown, teach for life, keep bees and marry seedlings.
Standing at the entrance of the village, you will always see the old Du pear tree on the top of Nanshan.
In spring, white flowers are like goose feathers and heavy snow, and in autumn, fruits are like little fingers.
Father said that Li Du pears are cold-resistant, drought-resistant and waterlogged-resistant, and will not die after being flooded for several months.
Father said that Duli pear is salt-tolerant, grows slowly and has a long life.
Father said, pear tastes sour, astringent, coughing and dysentery.
Father said Du Li was hard and straight, and could be carved.
That autumn, I picked a bunch of green pears and put them in a casserole.
Buried in the kang cave. That winter, pears were ripe and dark purple.
The flesh is sweet, just like a pot of charcoal fire that illuminates the winter night.
The Dulu pear tree growing on the top of Nanshan Mountain is too old to be grafted.
When I think of this, I think of my father's diploma hidden in the attic.
Father has sealed the sufferings of a scholar in his hometown.
Oh, father! That pear tree is the Peak Park.
How I want to transplant it to this city in my later years.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 4. Those fruits are hidden among the branches and leaves, green and red with the leaves.
Those fruits are like stones eroded by wind and rain, which are unobtrusive.
Hanging between branches and leaves, there are faint edges and corners and faint bones and muscles.
Chew slowly, and the tip of the tongue will produce a faint sweetness.
In late autumn, after peaches and apricots disappear; In the cold winter, pears rot.
Hawthorn is placed on the square table for guests to eat. Like the craft of a folk craftsman.
Or the shining thimble on mother's finger until the slack season.
Come in handy. Crataegus pinnatifida and the newly added soles are put together in a needle and thread dustpan.
It's fruit stored under festivals, and it's a pastime.
And pills for digesting accumulated food. I have never regarded frugality as blindness.
Medicinal materials for treating poverty, if counted as medicinal materials, are as bitter as licorice.
In fact, what I remember most is not only the slight sweetness in his acid.
Its acidity is long and low-key like a white flower.
Like a stalwart body, it looks very tall, but it is actually very quiet.
Quiet as hell. The canopy can cover the whole courtyard.
But magpies or crows are not welcome to nest, give birth and make noise at the top of the tree.
Sparrows often feed in the shade of trees, and the gray of sparrows is very similar to its bark over the years.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 5 At dusk, when I was a child, I sat on the steps in front of the house.
I don't understand grandpa's hard work and fatigue.
I won't smoke and drink big leaf tea as hard as my grandfather does.
I just knocked the dust off my shoes carefully.
The familiar plants in spring have weakened at the foot of the Western Wall.
The house gets dark first, and the yard doesn't need firefly lighting.
I sat on the steps and saw you thin in the corner of the yard.
When spring comes, I will bury an almond in a corner of the yard.
Water almonds every day. When almonds are split in half,
Bitter almonds spit out their tongues like bean sprouts.
How thin is your little body? Never.
Kiss spring carefully, and don't stick to it.
I don't want to blame the chicken, it must dig in the soil.
I don't want to blame the dog, it will put its hind legs on the wall to pee.
I don't want to blame the pig, how unyielding it is to arch out of the fence
You haven't lived in spring, every spring.
I have something to do. You didn't live through the spring.
Every spring I have a reason to turn up the dirt in the corner of the yard.
The soil is fresh and the courtyard wall is short, so I stick my head out.
Just to see the back of spring flash by.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 6 The peach blossom turned out to be a village girl on the hillside and was called by folk songs.
Sister, you are blushing.
Sister runs on the hillside and sister runs in the city.
Sister, sister, a name that is not subject to geographical discrimination.
In the blink of an eye in March, you stand on a branch with water.
The peach branch was originally inserted obliquely on the baby's pink neck.
Avoid evil spirits; That peach branch was originally.
Plant it in the grave of grass and grow into bones.
Peach blossoms are getting redder and redder, folk songs are getting whiter and whiter, and it is windy and rainy in season.
More and more like the smell of stagnant water. Sister, sister
You are shy. Who planted wrinkles of time under the flowers?
Sister, sister and brother's shoes were left on the opposite March road.
Shake the grass seeds on the mountain ridge and they will be blown old by the mountain wind.
Beautiful modern poems about trees 7 Only one walnut tree can be planted on a slope.
The leaves are so dense and the shade is so big.
Only one walnut tree can be planted on a slope.
Only yam eggs can be planted on the sloping land under the walnut tree.
The canopy is so big and the hillside is so steep.
Only yam eggs can be planted on the sloping land under the walnut tree.
The seedlings of yam eggs can only grow outside the shade.
It's so hot in summer and the shade is so cold.
The seedlings of yam eggs can only grow outside the shade.
The days of playing walnuts can only wait until after the Mid-Autumn Festival.
The wood is strong and the nuts are brittle.
The days of playing walnuts can only wait until after the Mid-Autumn Festival.
After the Mid-Autumn Festival, the walnut green peel naturally falls off.
After the Mid-Autumn Festival, walnut trees are as smooth as women.
Peeled walnuts are clean.
Walnut trees grow on a slope of 45 degrees.
Wrinkled walnuts are more like suffering villagers.
Beautiful modern poems about trees outside my hometown 8. Why do foreigners always sing dandelions the most?
Why do those frivolous vagrants always confuse their eyes outside their hometown?
Those small or strong fruits in my hometown, such as pepper, pear and hawthorn.
Why are you always silent? Those big and heavy fruits.
Such as pears, apples, persimmons, and watermelons and cucumbers on vines.
Why do you always bend branches or crawl? Those fruits buried in the soil
For example, yam eggs, sweet potatoes and radishes are always ignored by xia yang.
There are also modest fruits, such as peaches, apricots, plums and mulberries, which are as sweet as folk songs.
These fruits are really ordinary, but they always fall before the autumn wind comes.
I saw the scent of Sophora japonica, Ulmus pumila and Toona sinensis as drooping pinecones.
I saw bees flying on the branches of seabuckthorn, Vitex negundo and jujube.
I saw the flowers on wheat, millet, corn and sorghum bloom and wither.
I saw butterflies hovering on pumpkin seedlings, pea seedlings and grape vines.
I saw codonopsis pilosula, Radix Astragali, Radix Rehmanniae and Flos Lonicerae scattered on the barren slope.
I saw Scutellaria baicalensis Georgi, Bupleurum chinense, polygala tenuifolia, Anemarrhena asphodeloides and Forsythia suspensa all over the mountains.
Those white, yellow, blue, purple, pink and red flowers.
Those big, small, deep, shallow, long and round flowers.
Those flowers with the same horns, rice grains and dust ...
In my hometown, grass can blossom, trees can blossom and soil can blossom.
Stones can blossom, even clouds and lightning can blossom.
Only people on land have never blossomed in their whole lives and are unwilling to say a word.
The villagers work at sunrise year after year and rest at sunset.
Occasionally, I stand up straight and shout, and my tired heart is like a smiling pomegranate.