Are there any poems about spring? It's poetry, not poetry.

Shu ting in early spring

Friend, it's spring.

Dispel sadness and dry tears.

Smile at the sun

Although there is no torrent of flowers yet

Wash away the shackles of winter

plastered

Floods in plains and canyons

Although there is no birdsong waterfall yet

Splash thousands of silver beads.

Scattered in the foggy dawn

Rolling in on the boulevard at dusk.

But wait.

Once it thunders,

Dark clouds fled in a hurry.

That is the most beautiful and beautiful dream.

Maybe it will come brilliantly overnight.

Yes, it's still a little cold.

And cold troubles

If you listen carefully

On the five old peaks, the wind is still whistling.

Trembling valley

As if wailing together

But there are some little cuckoos.

Like a flame that can't be extinguished

Wen nuan Tian di

Even the clouds are no longer floating.

Let me put it this way, my friend.

The reason why spring is beautiful and rich.

Because it passed the final chill.

1975.2

Du Muye in spring.

In Liu Yin Street in March, catkins are everywhere.

White, ups and downs in the wind.

Sometimes I get into my eyes.

I can't see the spring of Gongwangfu clearly.

Sometimes I inhale into my throat and cough until I blush and my neck is thick.

Especially when welcoming peach blossoms with a one-step skirt.

In particular, I found that many people not only welcome peach blossoms.

And pestering her for a photo-

This scene reminds me of my Longnan.

My Longnan must have changed into a light coat at this time.

There must be only a few flowers on her long skirt.

Yellow and bright tanchun flowers

From Houhai to Gulou, I thought as I walked.

Thinking about thinking about it is not people take out a cellular phone:

I said, hey! What is spring like in Longnan?

Can Xu Chun Tzu Chi Mo?

Yesterday, the peach blossom was inserted obliquely in my bottle.

It is a blossoming smile hanging on the beauty's cheek;

Today, they all bowed their heads and changed their faces-

Red and white bodies hung upside down on green stripes.

That night in spring

The bee's little wings fanned farther.

I like its singing.

Praise means prayer.

The dew quivered.

The first butterfly flew out.

It likes its own peach blossoms.

Flying over the winter, Wu stood on the spot.

In its dry feathers

My body is still wet.

I have been staring at it all winter.

That yellow leaf

Harmony from spring

break away from

Very low.

Bless upward