Modern poetry on the last days of the old year

There are always some days in a year

They are gentle, peaceful and idle.

The last few pages of the calendar

are covered with jars and jars New Year's goods

After being washed and bathed by water

Together with my elderly villagers

Sticking against the leeward wall

Breathing and re-breathing Drinking the sunshine

Propping up the hard material

Welcoming the sleepless new year

At this time, my father was sitting in front of the church

Using Hu Qin's hoarse words

Conversation with the innocent sparrow under the eaves

Occasionally lighting a cigarette

He swallowed three hundred and sixty-five bitter words Spicy and sweet

Occasionally a cough or two

Startled the puppy and barked a few times

Running around as if nothing happened

Nestled myself into the master’s past again

I stood at dusk

Watching the sunset’s drumsticks beating the earth

Watching my mother in the garden Rows of green hope are planted in it

Looking at the white snow covering my father’s head inch by inch

Looking at the old year walking away quietly