Poetry about affection, love and friendship

I'm waiting for you, Xu Zhimo, I'm waiting for you. I looked at the dark outdoor as if I were looking at the future, and my heart was blinded by my listening. Why haven't you come yet? I hope to allow flowers to bloom every second. I am waiting for your footsteps, your laughter, your face, your soft hair, and everything; I hope every second is passing.-Where are you? I want you to make my heart ache, I want you to smile like a flame, I want your flexible waist and the stars dancing in your hair. I am trapped in an intoxicating atmosphere, like an island, floating and sinking involuntarily between the waves of python green ... Oh, I am eager for your arrival, hoping that a magical haze will open the top of time! Why don't you come? You have a heart! You know, I know you know, it's a fatal blow that you don't come to me, killing Yangchun in my life, teaching the iron-solid darkness in the mine and oppressing my thoughts and breathing; Killing the poor bud of hope turned me into a prisoner, cruel with jealousy and sadness, shame and despair. This may be an illusion. This is an illusion. I believe that I am indeed an idiot; But I can't turn the directional rudder, and the wind and interest of Wanfang don't allow me to hesitate-I can't turn back, fate drives me! I also know that this is mostly the road to destruction, but for you, for you, I am willing to do anything; This is not only my passion, but also my only reason. Idiot! In order to touch a woman's heart, I want to break a fiber of life! Want to win, can win, at most, is a drop of her tears, her cold sneer; But I am willing, even if I pass the news of my death to a stubborn stone, she regards me as a mouse and an ant in the crypt, I am still willing! Obsessed with the truth is unconditional, and God can't bring back an infatuated heart, just as generals sometimes bring back soldiers who are on the verge of death. In vain, everything is in vain, there is no denying that you will not come, although my heart is burning with a raging fire, longing for everything about you, your hair, your smile, your hands and feet; No wishful thinking and prayer can shorten the distance between you and me by one inch! The twilight outside has condensed into the darkness of night, the branches are covered with ice and snow, and the birds have lost their songs. Silence is the universe in which people wear mourning clothes. The hands on the clock are constantly comparing mysterious gestures, such as pointing, sympathy and ridicule. Every touch sounds like the death knell of one's own heart. For the oak tree, if I love you, I will never show off on your high branches like climbing Campbell; If I love you-I will never repeat monotonous songs for the shade like an spoony bird; It not only brings cool comfort all year round like a fountain; Not only does it increase height and set off dignity like a dangerous peak. Even during the day. Even spring rain. No, these are not enough! I must be a kapok beside you, standing with you as a tree. Roots, clinging to underground leaves, touch each other in the clouds. Every time a gust of wind passes, we greet each other, but no one understands us. You have your copper branches and iron stems, like knives, swords and halberds; I have my red flowers, like a heavy sigh and a heroic torch. We share cold waves, storms and lightning; We like mist, flowing mist and rainbow. Seemingly separated forever, but dependent for life. This is great love, this is loyalty: love-not only your stalwart body, but also the position you insist on, the land under your feet. In goddess peak, among all kinds of handkerchiefs waving to you, whose hand suddenly retracted and covered her eyes tightly. When people disperse, who is still standing at the stern, whose dress is flying like a raging cloud? Jiang Tao raised his voice and lowered his voice, leaving a beautiful dream, which was passed down from generation to generation. However, can the heart really turn into stone? I have missed the crane looking at the sky countless times. The moonlight by the river and the flood in Ligustrum lucidum are inciting new betrayal. It is better to show off on the cliff for a thousand years than to cry on your lover's shoulder for one night. Dai Wangshu walked alone in a long, lonely rain lane with an oil-paper umbrella. I hope to meet a girl as sad as lilac. She is lilac-like color, lilac-like fragrance, lilac-like sadness, sadness in the rain, sadness and hesitation. She wanders in this lonely rain lane, holding an oil-paper umbrella, and like me, she is silently sad, cold, sad and disappointed. She approached silently and breathed a sigh of relief. She floated like a dream, dreamlike, sad and confused. Like a lilac in a dream, this girl drifted by me. She walked away silently, walked away, walked towards the crumbling fence and walked through the rainy path. In the elegy of the rain, her color faded, her fragrance dispersed, even her sighing eyes and the melancholy of lilacs. Holding an oil-paper umbrella, I wandered alone in a long, lonely rain lane, hoping to float past a girl with a lilac knot. 1. Since the ship is doomed to run aground and fester, it may be a necessity for two seagulls to fly in the distance. Vaguely looking for you is your green whistle, but vaguely it is your lovely shadow, and your whistle will never be clear. One day they will disappear forever. Suddenly, a bright light cruelly penetrated the dream, so the dream broke and you lost me. I'm not the same person. I always miss you, with green olives in my mouth, chew slowly. Although bitter, there is no lack of sweetness. The two weeping willows on the shore are silent, but they compose a warm symphony with silent notes, even though there is a river around them. There is not a ripple on the water, which has deeply touched your roots. I think as long as you stick to the green clothes worn in this land, they will not fade. The footsteps of youth are getting closer and closer to us, and our footsteps are about to get farther and farther away from each other. Facing parting. We don't cry anymore. The tender smile tells the memory of the stage: graceful figure is like misty rain in the West Lake. The graceful figure turned the fragrance of Shaoxing wine into alcohol! Friends, let's join hands. Don't let waste turn into regret. Waiting to breed losses. Facing life, love lasts only a hundred years. Friendship lasts forever! ! I once loved you, Pushkin. I once loved you. Love may not be completely dead in my heart. I hope I won't bother you again. I don't want to upset you any more. I once loved you silently and hopelessly. I endure shyness and jealousy. I once loved you so sincerely and tenderly. May God bless you again. People will love you as much as I do. I want to be the petofi of the torrent. I want to be a rapids, a mountain stream, through rugged roads and rocks ... as long as my lover is a small fish, swimming happily in my waves. I would like to be a barren forest, on both sides of the river, bravely fighting against the strong wind … as long as my lover is a bird, chirping on my dense branches. I would like to be a ruin. On the steep rock, this silent destruction does not make me feel depressed ... As long as my lover is the ivy of youth, intimacy will climb up along my desolate forehead. I would like to be a thatched cottage, at the bottom of a deep valley, at the top of a thatched cottage, to be destroyed by wind and rain ... as long as my lover is a lovely flame, it will slowly twinkle happily in my stove. I would like to be a cloud, a broken gray flag, lazily floating in the vast sky ... as long as my lover is a coral sunset glow, next to my pale face, shining brightly. She walks in the beautiful light, george gordon byron-she walks in the beautiful light, like a cloudless night with stars; The most beautiful colors of light and shade are presented in her appearance and eyes: the dazzling daytime is just too bright, which is softer and darker than that light. Increasing or decreasing the light and shade will damage this unspeakable beauty. Beauty fluctuates in her dark hair, or sheds a faint light on her face. Quiet thoughts show that it is pure and precious. Oh, that forehead, that bright cheek, so gentle, calm, affectionate, that charming smile, that radiant face all show a kind life: her heart is satisfied with everything in the world, and her heart is full of pure love, but you don't remember that time I borrowed your new car and I hit it. I thought you were going to kill me, but you don't remember that time when I dragged you to the beach and you said it would rain, but it did. I thought you would say I told you so, but you don't remember that time I threw up strawberry cake on your newly painted carpet. I thought you would hate me, but you don't remember that time. Teasing all the men makes you jealous, but don't you remember that time I forgot to tell you that the dance is wearing skirts and you only wear jeans? I thought you must have given up on me, but you didn't. Yes, there are many things you haven't done. You tolerate me, love me and protect me. I have many, many things to repay you. When you came back from Vietnam, you didn't know the origin of this poem: an ordinary American family, mother and daughter lived alone. My daughter's father was recruited into Vietnam when her daughter was 4 years old and died unfortunately. My mother didn't remarry until she was 80. After her mother died, her daughter found a poem written by her mother while sorting out her things. The title is "But you didn't".