Spring is coming
Bathed in fresh sunshine and rain, watching life flourish, my poems began to exude the fragrance of spring.
What I can't say is that an angry seed comes out of the ground in spring, and I seem to see the jingle of flowers. The children are flying with the kites they are chasing, but they can't get rid of the strings. On the graceful wicker by the lake, dancing butterflies are parked, which makes the beautiful vision purify the soul. When the tits are drunk, the children's laughter rushes into the backbone of heaven and earth.
This spring is still persistent, and the sinking sunrise continues to rise. Go for an outing, enjoy the fragrance of buds and see the lovely grass or the happy posture of standing or lying down. Let the heart soaked for a long time bloom green breath under the breeze, and let the dream under the fence condense into a wave of reflection. Forget the pain when autumn leaves fall. Ice and blood gradually melted. There is no need to be emotional in life. Let the awakened river touch the wings left by the geese, and let the eyes in the clouds drift across the deep shadows. Go for an outing, sing happily, find the right direction for your ideal, look at the overlapping figure of open morning glory, and imagine the whisper under the fence last spring. Go for an outing and see the solemn oath of mimosa in the season, and the tenderness that will never lose weight after a winter. The golden cauliflower remains unchanged, restoring the interlaced scenery in the farmland. Winter jasmine has been woven into the torrent of flowers and rolled into the epitome of spring.
If you are willing to farm, then plant confusion and confusion. I want to harvest the whole season in the shade. If you are willing to farm, plant indifference and resentment. I want to harvest yearning and nature. If you are willing to farm, plant the words you once wrote to me. I want to harvest our love answers in this life.
On the way back and forth, I seemed to see a forest full of flowers. Are you spying on me?
Looking back several times, dreaming of the world of mortals, always wandering in your world. Spring is full, and there are always pictures of the past in my spiritual words.
There is no turning back at the end of the world, flowers fall in spring and spring is full. Soon, I will eventually become a wicker crying at the window in the autumn wind.
I once thought, before we met, did you realize the prosperity and coldness of this world? Otherwise, how can you vent the power of love and hate crazily?
Leaves fall to their roots, whether they sprout or fall, whether they are bitter or happy.
Yan has been here, smiling and smoking. You have been here, but standing at the end of the fog, your back is blurred.
After today, I sent you away from my heart, and the time to miss the moon finally didn't come.