The torn veil (anti-war poem)-since it is named greed and rape, it cannot be veiled forever! The gray at both ends of the black-and-white cycle tames the balance and is said to be a hotbed of rest. All the sisters are dead. A song is played by its robe sleeve. In the robe sleeve, the boy calls his father every day, and more people climb up from the roots to collect a leaf and bid farewell to their mother. A stone horse lying in the grass and a lame one stepping on the battlefield have many memories of crickets chirping and nesting in its temples every night. There is a rusty sword hanging in the glass cabinet of the museum, which is said to be of great ornamental value. The boy wrote on the old glass and saw his old friend swallow fly by. "Swallow Swallow, why did you tell me that the paper window grilles in my former residence were replaced with new gauze?" Responder: Taro-Manager Level 5 3- 10 12: 12 Chairman Mao's war poems, and it's best to quote a few poems of Xijiangyue1Jinggangshan in the autumn of 928. The enemy besieged thousands of people and I stopped. Already very strict barriers, more United. There was a lot of gunfire in Huang Yangjie, and it was reported that the enemy had escaped at night. /kloc-in the autumn of 0/929, the "Jiang Gui Battle" in Qingpingle suddenly changed, and the warlords fought again. Spilled to the world is resentment, and a pillow reappears. The red flag jumps over Tingjiang River and goes straight down Longyan to Shanghang. It's really busy to pack up Jin Zhen and divide the fields. Picking mulberry seeds "Chongyang" 1929 10 month, life is easy to get old, and the year is over. Today is Chongyang, and the yellow flowers in the battlefield are particularly fragrant. The annual autumn wind blows hard, not like spring, but better than spring, just like the Wan Li frost on the vast river. If you want to push a modern poem into war, you should be satisfied. When the prosperity of millions becomes barren, when the process of civilization stops, you make the air no longer have the breath of peace, and you make peace disappear from now on. But why can't you hear the child crying? The iron face is still your endless cold. When you realize the expected desolation, you should feel satisfied. When you finally took away yesterday's sunshine, you made the fairy tale world disappear. You let despair cast your sword of blood, but why can't you see the eyes of losing your mother? Why did you send that cold bullet into the gun chamber mechanically? You should be satisfied. That blue sky has long been dyed red by you, and you have finally become more and more numb. In the killing, your steps are still calm. Get your evil hands off me, my poor child. Do you know this ridiculous game is very early? I have lost the ending. No matter how dissatisfied you are, or even turn around and shoot a bullet at me stubbornly, I will tell you that life is given by God and you have no right to take it away /viewart.rs? His son's war game, his men constantly transform tanks, artillery soldiers, and weapons named after himself. One moment my mouth is purring, and the other moment I'm afraid of it. From the living room to the bedroom, there are traces of war everywhere. All morning, the nine-year-old boy was occupied by the desire for war. He kept playing with assembled toys, integrating cruelty into the game and releasing endless happiness, which made his father dumbfounded: if it was really live ammunition, where would he push the war? References:
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