Modern poetry 1,
A petal falls quietly. Pink is delicate, slightly white is sad, and elegance immediately sneaks into your heart. The fragrance immediately surrounds you. It's gentle. However, this is not cowardice. Very beautiful. However, it is not enchanting. In the tenderness of petals, there is a firmness, and in the beauty of petals, there is a indifference. In the dripping petal rain.
You seem to be confused by this scene. You are surrounded by poetry. It seems picturesque, if you pick up a few petals. When you open that page, add it to the book. It's not just a page. But there is a nature in the performance. Into your mind, into your heart, when your eyes flash to the petals.
There is a kind of compassion that urges you to feel. But you still can't bear it. It seems to wither at the touch. It is not as mature as a rose. It's not as simple as tulips. It is not as pure as lily. And it is noble and indifferent. However, it will immerse you. This is cherry blossom.
Modern poetry ii,
When the footsteps of spring, stepping on the rapid drums; I have been stationed in the camp at the end of winter to meet a sacred and solemn baptism. Please don't cling to this falling cloud. It's not my blushing face, it's more like a flame burning in my heart.
This is a season of high-profile publicity. In the world of black and pink, you sing and I come on stage, and free blooming is the eternal theme. Please pick up your thoughts and dance on the noblest branches, even if you put on the heaviest shackles. You should also sleep peacefully with a wisp of fragrance on your pillow.
But why, when I felt the pulse of spring, before I could pour out my love, the fragments fell coldly, turning my last kiss into a piece of spring mud and buried it in the wind and rain. The meaning of life is not to fight for a brilliant scene. I am willing to hide behind people and become a lost spirit, looking back at the footprints and thoughts of spring.