Green again, my grove.
Ants and flying insects in the Woods
These humble lives come with spring.
Under the soil, I heard the sound of earthworm crawling.
Knock down the mud-sealed door with a soft head
I saw a flock of goats on the grass in the grove.
Waving his long beard and bleating.
Shaking my youth and soul, a black goat came to me leisurely.
Tears of happiness hung on his face.
Second, open the door of spring.
I hear birds chirping.
In the city, there are several spring birds.
They are afraid to go into town.
Just cheering and jumping outside the classroom.
They are as simple as farmers in the countryside.
Let me sprout a sense of closeness.
They are my friends.
Like a relative I met by chance.
They are looking for unknown bugs.
Make a friendly voice to one's companion
After school, I fell in love with birdsong.
In the debate about birds,
I pushed open the door of spring.
Third, this spring
This spring, my heart is in a mess, and I think of some tombstones for a while.
Think of my childhood for a while.
My heart is at sixes and sevens this spring.
Poetry in spring is written in spring.
My poems are the leaves of grass and crowns in spring.
This spring,
What else can I do?
Who else can I embrace spring and time with?
Who is spring, opening a brand-new first page calendar, a swallow flying in the rain? Is the cuckoo spreading its wings in the clouds? Or, firecrackers in the farewell sound? Who planted the first hope on the dry Yuan Ye and the hard-working cattle on the yellow land? Is it father's weathered white hair on his forehead? In other words, the wrinkles on the mother's face were refuted by the rings. I only saw a wisp of drizzle and wind flying by, and in this way, your pretty cheeks were blown pink by apricot flowers and red by peach blossoms. In this way, you awakened the dream of sleeping for thousands of years and began to set foot on a new footprint.
Before you get dressed in summer, the sun is burning your heart, bearing the entrustment of spring, and you are carefully guarding your first promise. In the afternoon, the dark clouds swam across the clear sky, and then shed a touching tear, washing away the tired dust on the farmers' shoulders. At this time, the newly withered shoots of the branches have given birth to new life. In the chirp of crickets, the figure was slowly elongated, elongated ... People in the crops waved sickles and hoes gnawed by years, and wrote some distant hopes with the poet's pen.
Autumn sent away the last ray of hot sunshine in summer. You held the hand of the seed and helped you through two seasons. Just for the golden fruits hanging on the branches everywhere and the simple smiling faces of farmers in the fields. I can clearly see that their eyes are full of tears of joy. Finally, the ears of wheat in the rice field quietly climbed to the top of the former seedlings, bending the leaves; Also bend the reaper's back pressure and bend the shoulder pole. You comforted the sweat of farmers who have traveled for a long time with a bumper harvest. Swallows flying in the south, whose leaves have fallen back to their roots, were sent away from the treetops by you, spitting out a trace of white fog affectionately, covering up the footprints at home, leaving only blue sky and long memories.
Whose winter ended the last season of 360 days, the snowflakes falling on the top of the mountain? Is it a cold current blowing on the roof? Or, the thick cotton-padded jacket on the villagers. Who is it, quietly sweeping away the colorful prosperity of the past, or a bug sleeping secretly in the ground? Is it the lazy dying sun? Or, a light tree that has been busy all his life? I can no longer see the apricot flowers dancing in the setting sun, and I can't hear the drizzle that moistens the girl's heart in the small building. Looking back suddenly, you have fulfilled your last promise, grabbed an endless handful of white snow, sprinkled it all over the earth, and continued to lead the songs that are not old. In the biting cold wind, wait, wait … wait for the next spring.