Vivid modern poetry

The theme of youth is lively enough. The poem of youth is a song that can never be sung. Youth is a never-ending river. Youth is a book that you will never get tired of reading. Youth is an endless cup of tea. Youth is a peak in the national forest, leaving thousands of young people's footprints in Qian Qian. Youth is a pagoda of knowledge, shedding the sweat of thousands of young people in Qian Qian. Youth is a tree, which is thriving and has withstood the test of wind and rain. Youth is a flower. Buds in bud want to show their unique charm to the world. I gave myself a gift of youth with a passionate youthful heart, that is, the poem of youth (1). It snows in March My mother died in the sky, not only in the winter sunshine, but also in the figure of pigeons flying. My string is broken. I fell on the top of the mountain in the depths of Yuntao and cried. March is the season of flowers, and my harvest is really all. The flowers of the world wither and the dead leaves dance on the snowy road. I sit on the ground and look up at the gate of heaven and the river that can't swim every night. The stars have disappeared from the ditch. Without the touch of the moon. I fiddled with a song thought by a prime minister in my own tears. (2) I secretly love watching you sow light green in my lonely autumn and grow into crazy spring grass. (3) My youth is dark in winter. No beautiful birds fly over the lonely sky. There are no fish swimming happily in stagnant water. I flew into the sky to overlook the flower projected on the running water and found that it was already in the wind of years. Childhood is a complete mirror, while youth is a mottled leaf. Whose worries are all over the mountains? Who is sleeping with Baiyun? The cuckoo in spring sings every night, but it has passed away? (4) Bright March, bright March, the flower shadow shakes the green leaves. I opened the window, and the sun shone in and drove away the shadows. I hear the sound of loneliness and fracture, the silky broken youth that birds pass by. Isn't it my sadness that shines on the water? Forget all the wine I have drunk, forget the snow on the lost mountain road, and melt in this beautiful March. Let's listen to the whispers of flowers and dreams together. 2. You are my youth. You came gently, with a little naughty. You are so naive and hypocritical. You came quietly, with a little dream. You are so cute. You are faint, fresh is your temperament, and simplicity is your wealth. I wanted to hold you in my arms, but you cried. Therefore, I will no longer desecrate your purity. Just because you are my youth.