Trees outside the window. I've heard it many times.
I still can't remember its name.
Tall and lush. It's cool
Covered my whole summer.
It grows fast, but it is not strong.
The wind and rain broke many of its branches.
I didn't leave, it didn't leave.
Looking up is a tall figure.
The mountain outside the window
Accustomed to its existence
I have never had a subtle connection with it.
When I conceive a set of poems
I just know that it has stopped on my forehead for a long time.
Like father's cheek, very hot.
My cold face and cheeks. Castle peak remains the same.
I haven't called for years: Dad.
But I'm used to my daughter's kiss.
The river outside the window
You're the one who stretched out in the dream.
Quietly walk past, eyes in the moonlight
Shame makes the willow branches droop. A drop of dew
You can light the flame of a pair of eyes.
Open a ripple, a memory
Through the night until the dream.
Back in the daytime, the garbage on the river bed
It's like a vine drawing blood in its heart.
The light outside the window
I will naturally look at you when I am eager for the light.
Find a lamp in the dark and compare it with a cup.
Kung fu tea is easy, and the rest is warm.
A wisp, woven into a net
Wrap all the black paint that makes up the night.
No matter how dark the background color is, it can't hinder it.
A bright sword, before opening the bow left and right.
Draw a beautiful blueprint