Poetry with the theme of "growth" . Find it quickly. . .

The Poetry of Youth Youth is a song that never gives up. Youth is a never-ending river. Youth is a book that you will never get tired of reading. Youth is an endless cup of tea. Youth is a peak in the national forest, marking the footprints of thousands of young people in Qian Qian. Youth is a pagoda of knowledge, shedding the sweat of thousands of young people in Qian Qian. Youth is a tree that thrives and has withstood the test of wind and rain. Spring is a budding bud and wants to show its unique charm to the world. I give myself a youth gift with a passionate youth heart, that is, the poem of youth (1). In March, a snow came and my mother died. What disappears in the sky is not only the winter sunshine, but also the figure of pigeons flying. My string was broken and I fell to the top of the mountain in the depths of Yuntao, crying. March is the season when flowers bloom, and my harvest is really the flower withering all over the world. Fallen leaves are dancing on the snowy road. I sit on the ground and look up at the gate of heaven and the river that can't swim every night. The stars have long since disappeared from the ditch, without the touch of the moon. I debugged and fiddled with a thought-provoking song in my own tears. (2) I secretly watched you sow light green in my lonely autumn and grow into madness. Spring Grass (3) My Youth In the dark sky in winter, there are no beautiful birds flying over a lonely stagnant water, and no fish swimming happily. I flew into the sky and looked down at the flowers projected on the running water, and found that they were already in the wind of years. Childhood is a complete mirror, while youth is a mottled leaf. Whose thoughts and dreams are covered by white clouds? Who is the cuckoo who cries night and day in spring except the lost passion? (4) Bright March, bright March, the flower shadow shakes the green leaves. I opened the window, and the sun shone in and drove away the shadows. I hear the sound of loneliness and fracture, the silky broken youth that birds pass by. Isn't it my sadness that shines on the water? Forget all the wine I have drunk, forget the snow on the lost mountain road, and melt in this beautiful March. Let's listen to the whispers of flowers and dreams together. 2. You are my youth. You came gently, with a little naughty. You are so naive and hypocritical. You came quietly, with a little dream. You are so cute. You are faint, fresh is your temperament, and simplicity is your wealth. I wanted to hold you in my arms, but you cried. Therefore, I will no longer desecrate your purity. Just because you are my youth. 3, youth is not in the mood When I look back at the hand that has been waving for a long time behind me, I still can't see anything. Only the leaves on the tree behind me are swaying gently in the wind < 2 > In these quiet days, I always look out the window silently and at the bare tree, which is the chilblain of a single old man who has spent the winter, and the blood is still slowly flowing. Lonely branches are bare and scattered all over the floor under the cold wind. A few birds are jumping under the eaves and looking here from time to time, but they are never far from their warm homes. The sun always sighs in the dignified sky again and again, and there is nothing left after shaking its head again and again. Three, there are still seven or eight stars scattered on the grass that has not snowed for a long time. A bird seems to have been dead for a long time. I have never found the deep mark I left in this place. The clear river is full of leaves, large and small, creating many traps in the wide valley. I stepped on the piled leaves carefully, finding my way or time in an unusually soft voice. The shell left by the old hunter suddenly realized that the steel sheet turned out to be some beautiful petals, which had been air-dried for ten thousand years. The yellow land once again prayed for the song of the wind. Is it because of the end of the song that you are wandering again? Is it for the soul to surpass a banana that was originally far away from the jungle a few years ago? Is it because bananas continue this wandering front in an empty fantasy? The sky is soaked by rain day by day, exhausted by the scorching sun, but blurred by the footprints of dust day by day. How many times have tears filled the sea and Wang Yang? The environment is getting worse and worse, but it can't hit a brand-new human past life. The bitter and salty life is still surrounded by your dam. < 5 > sitting by the river, sitting on the rough black sand, thinking about the endless wasteland, Huang Mudian has been away from home for a long time. Everything has passed, and the silence that hates death is more comfortable than anything else. The footsteps of the years have turned the black floating soil into a blank, and the two mouths have finally turned into a muddy dead sea. After millions of storms, it is still an immortal silence. Laughter came one after another in the distance, and the pages on the table were blown up and down by the wind, as if you were walking in the distant waves and approaching the lotus flowers in the winter snowfield. . . . . . Those endless memories of youth, quietly sliding down the track of life, like a notch on the table. From this year to next year, we have recorded the joys and sorrows year after year, which proves that the joys and sorrows have left traces of our growth. Youth is a beautiful dream, but it will wake up one day. Youth is a small river, but it will dry up one day. Youth is a rainbow, but it will disappear one day. Flowers bloom, but they will fade one day. Youth is the fine sand in your hand, which leaks away unconsciously. Youth is a meteor in the sky. Although it is beautiful, it passes away in an instant. Youth is the fragrance left by happiness. I want to cherish it. Staring at the willow shadow on the shore, I once again entered the memory of youth. It used to be a world of green grass and flowers, but now it is covered with a layer of silver frost. Because for a 30-year-old, playing the string of youth may be a bit out of date. But, after all, I have been stationed in this life station. Didn't you see those crooked footprints on the road? Listen to that simple flute tune, isn't it the inner call? What a persistent pursuit, what a naive fantasy, no falsehood and no sadness. And those vain and vanity are the footprints of my youth. This is the road I walked when I was defeated by the storm of the times. Yes, the youth I still remember is a painful era, an era in which fanatical passion and shocking slogans are intertwined. I have also studied hard at the cold window, always trying to get rid of the gifts given to our generation by the ten-year disaster-ignorant cloudy and childish dust and shallow mud. However, who can get rid of the air pollution of the times? Thankfully, I am awake, and I understand life, which is the alternate weaving of sadness and happiness, and the constant translocation of courage and cowardice. No failure and frustration, no pain and hesitation. Then how can I taste the pride of success and the joy of victory? How can we get rid of childish and shallow footprints? So I look forward, as if I saw a harvest season coming to us. . . . . Youth without Complaints (Xi Murong _ Taiwan Province Province) When you are young, if you fall in love with someone, please treat him gently, then all the moments will be flawless beauty. If you have to part, say goodbye and thank him in your heart for giving you a memory. When you grow up, you will know that youth without resentment has no regrets at the moment when you suddenly look back. The quiet full moon "Youth" poem on the mountain-Shen Qing's youthful flowers and plants make me tired without regret. The rain and snow in the four seasons make me enchanted but haggard. Light wind and green dreams, light morning sleep, light clouds and light tears, light years. With the joy of wandering, I will never come back. No one hinted at the dry taste of homesickness when I was young. I want to snuggle up to every golden sunset, and every drop of transparent dew washes away my sadness. I met her in full bloom in the distant spring, like a beautiful fairy tale filled with dazzling brilliance. Allow me, song for you. I can't sleep every night. Allow me to cry for you. I can fly freely in tears. The sky in my dream is very big, and I am lying on your eyelashes. There were many days in my dream, but I began to want to go home. On that blue hillside, I will bury all my songs and wait for them to become human legends one day. The bloom of youth makes me tired but I don't regret it. The rain and snow in the four seasons make me ecstatic but haggard. Tangled clouds, tangled tears, tangled mornings, wandering winds, wandering dreams, wandering years. Supplement: the rising sun in long poems is so energetic; The earth is full of vitality; The hour hand and the second hand keep moving; Slowly the sun goes down, the moon rises, the night comes gradually, and darkness covers the earth. One day, it will leave quietly. The passage of time is so heartless. I am growing up slowly, and the brush of life moves fourteen candles silently. It's coming! After 14 storms and hardships, I learned to bear hardships and stand hard work! After fourteen hot and cold seasons, I have experienced eternal cold and heat, but I have learned to protect myself! After 14 changes in the sun, moon and stars, I experienced fatigue and trouble, but I learned the truth of sticking to the end. I am like a boat, riding the wind and waves in the boundless sea. Go ahead, I am like a small tree growing in the wind and rain. I am like a fruit in midsummer, heading for a bumper harvest in autumn. At this special age, it is time for me to continue my efforts, because the road ahead will be long and rugged. Fourteen years old, let me continue to work hard. Fourteen years old, let me keep innovating. Fourteen years old, let me grow up happily! !