The next group of 25 songs in Xiaocao's poems

Song of the Grass is used to silence, and it is silent. It is used to obedience and kneeling in the high wind. It is used to giving alms and offering sacrifices to the sun. The sun is waiting to nourish the countryside wilderness. You are a grasshopper sent to the city garden by power. Although you are honored as a guest of honor, you can trim your hair according to the master's design. The lawn mower swept the green blood and splashed it on your head. * * The silent heads are regularly maintained. You gave up the right to think a long time ago. There are no flowers in the silent chorus. Not as high as a tree. I am an unknown grass. I am a grass. I have been a grass that people don't like since I was a child. I often walk alone in the wilderness. The wind seemed particularly cold at that time. At that time, when I was in primary school, the sky seemed particularly dim. I always let a group of children run after me. Every exam should be avoided like this. Nobody cared about this grass and was admitted to an ideal school. There are many talented people here, and I am the grass that nobody cares about, trembling silently in the wind. Green grass loves to dream. I didn't dream of flowers. At that time, the grass didn't understand the dream. Exciting. Grass had a dream for three years, but he never told anyone. He knows that he is a trivial little life. Even if he did, no one would listen. Maybe pure green is also exciting. He was taken home by his lover. It is often said that in your home, grass will be regarded as a flower to support those who love it. It is said that grass is more attractive than flowers. Strong and happy times always pass quickly. The green grass grows stronger and stronger. Occasionally people appreciate that green grass is better than flowers. Suddenly one day, the grass thought of it and felt sad. Strange grass, you don't enjoy the sunshine, but you just want to dream about the past. Don't do this. You are not afraid of withering and death. The green grass is daydreaming silently, thinking about how it will live in the future. Living with me in this city, every time they turn their heads sideways, they are as light as a group of sparrows foraging in the cracks of the city. They seem worried about disturbing some iron cars. When they see that the road is not easy to walk, they will open their voices and scream at the grass. The language is always low. Many times, it is always so low that people can't hear whether they are singing or crying. I regard the grass as my relatives living around them. As bright as the sun, I often have to bow my head to listen to their voices. At this moment, what I hear is their wailing about the building. In a blink of an eye, invaders armed with reinforced concrete flooded our city, such as desire devouring conscience, money devouring love, architecture, things we need devouring grass, and other things we can't live without. Grass in the wind, bundles of green flames, without any heat, my heart is boiling, tears are full of eyes, and that man is as sad as grass. Now all I can do is write down the call of the grass. Although I am smart, it is really hard for me to say so.