Modern Poetry Suitable for Children

& gt Snowflakes are goose feathers shaken off by little angels pulling pillows. Snowflakes scattered all over the floor. Snowflakes are cotton wool rented by Mother Sky to the earth, making it a warm quilt. Snowflakes are a gift from Santa Claus. Wish every child a healthy and happy mountain village children's painting. Qiu Yidongyun is the protagonist of the picture. Let the sunshine warm its appearance. There is a touch of cold trees floating in the sky of a stream, which is the protagonist of the picture. Let the wind draw its rings with rough strokes, and look around the cliff with eyes with light strokes. Earth is the protagonist of the picture. Let fantasy show its richness. A shallow mountain road is covered with the fragrance of autumn childhood. When have I ever looked up at the rut on my father's face with my cheeks and meditated on the gorgeous carriage of time? When am I still kneeling on my mother's knee, and the story in my ear flows like a mountain spring? The touch of the breeze is a hypnotic ditty. When am I still lying in the green with my kite hand on my back? The ants on the court climbed up my nose and stamped their feet complaining that I had crushed its newly-married house. When do I expect the class to hike? Pots and pans are necessary. I want to make a fire. I'm looking forward to the tempting rice fragrance. The rain came unexpectedly, so I could only taste it with a smile. The goose feather shaken by the little angel pulling the pillow was scattered all over the floor. Snowflake is cotton wool rented by Mother Sky to the earth, so it is a warm quilt. Snowflake is Santa Claus. Gift for us: I wish children in every mountain village a healthy and happy painting. Qiu Yi Dong Yun is the main character in this painting. Let the sunshine warm its appearance and let the cold touch it in the sky of the stream. The floating tree is the protagonist of the picture. Let the wind smear its rings. Eyes around the cliff. Earth is the protagonist of the picture. Let fantasy show its rich and deep feet. A shallow mountain road is covered with the fragrance of autumn childhood. When have I ever looked up at the rut on my father's face with my cheeks and meditated on the gorgeous carriage of time? When am I still kneeling on my mother's knee, and the story in my ear flows like a mountain spring? The touch of the breeze is a hypnotic ditty. When am I still lying in the green with my kite hand on my back? The ants on the court climbed up my nose and stamped their feet complaining that I had crushed its newly-married house. When do I expect the class to hike? Pots and pans are a must. I thought there would be a fire. The seductive rice fragrance and raindrops came unexpectedly. As a result, we can only taste the fairy tale Tan Xudong 1. Spring bird Spring bird is a good partner of Golden Voice. Every morning, my mother wakes me up from my dream and says that the birds in spring are calling me and she wants me. Go to the big forest with her and listen to the moving chorus of nature. Tan xudong 1. Spring bird is a good partner of Golden Voice. Every morning, my mother wakes me up from my dream and says that the birds in spring are calling me. She wants me to go to the big forest with her to listen to the moving chorus of nature. 2. Bamboo shoots quietly arch out of the ground and ask about the secret flowering of trees in spring. 3. Pomegranate is the pomegranate in Gu Xia. Gu tied a bright bow. Pomegranate fruit is ripe. Mother in autumn shakes the harvest in Kurenai Rin. The small hole in the straw hat is a door I opened for the sun. Watch the sun go down. They playfully stepped on my shadow, leaving footprints on my shadow. 5. Buds are warm in spring. Come out quickly. Don't just show a small head bark. Come out quickly. The sun will dress you in green. Spring breeze will give you dew. In my dream, the sea becomes smaller than the sky. They looked up in my arms. Bowing their heads and whispering, a big ship loaded with stars came in from my left and went out from my right to "comfort" the little moon mother who was worried about how to make jam. I said: no sugar, there is a sweet red sun on the fence in the morning. Author: Gu Cheng, I am a wayward child-I want to paint windows all over the earth so that all eyes accustomed to darkness can get used to light. Maybe I am a spoiled child by my mother. I am willful. I hope every moment is as beautiful as colored crayons. I hope I can draw a clumsy and free picture on my beloved white paper, an eye that will never cry, a sky, feathers and leaves belonging to the sky, a light green night and apples. I want to draw a smile that I can see in the morning, and draw all the youngest love. She has never seen a cloud. Her eyes are the color of a clear sky. She will always look at me and never turn around suddenly. I want to paint distant scenery, clear horizon and water waves, many happy rivers and hills-full of faint fluff. I let them get close, let them fall in love, and let every quiet spring excitement become Xiaohua's birthday. I also want to paint the future. I've never met her. It's impossible, but I know she is beautiful. I painted her autumn windbreaker, those burning candles and maple leaves, many hearts extinguished by loving her, those weddings and festivals that woke up early. I am a wayward child, with cellophane and illustrations of northern fairy tales. I want to draw all the misfortunes on the earth, so that all eyes accustomed to darkness can get used to light. I want to draw a downwind, and draw one higher than the next. Dashan painted the longing of the oriental nation and the sea-endless laughter. Finally, in the corner of the paper, I want to draw myself and a koala. He sat in the dark jungle of Victoria, sitting on a quiet branch. He has no home and no heart to stay far away. He only has many berry dreams and big eyes. I am hoping and thinking, but I don't know why I didn't get crayons and colorful moments. I only have fingers and pain. All I have to do is tear up Zhang Xinai's white paper, let them look for butterflies, and let them disappear from today. I am a child, a child spoiled by my imaginary mother. I am willful. "Weak Hope" Author: Gu Cheng, I and countless eggs that can't hatch. Stones piled up together, and blue rivers and streams climbed up, swallowed us in and spit us out quietly. There is nothing to do but hope that the grass can prolong its shadow. "Arc" Author: Gu Cheng bird quickly turned to the teenager in the high wind and picked up a penny vine, which was stretched out by fantasy, and the back touching the waves was contracted and lifted.