The three-masted ship carries shakuhachi.
From the sunset, from the head of Haixi,
Haixi guest from Chang 'an Maru.
Listening to the drunk's shakuhachi downstairs at midnight,
Think of a stranger who lives in a lonely museum.
I feel homesick when I hear the geese.
I got the shakuhachi to comfort my neighbor.
The second dynasty was in the prosperous Chang 'an City.
Visit the bleak bamboo tube alone ...
(Why is the red light every year?
There is still a wisp of desolate ancient incense floating? )
Go back, go back, go back-
Like migratory birds, they bring seeds from different directions.
This three-masted ship carries shakuhachi,
Shakuhachi has become the flower of Mishima.
(Why is the red light every year?
There is still a wisp of desolate ancient incense floating? )
Go back, go back, go back-
Do Haixi people want to bring back their lost sadness?
Modern poetry classics: lonely rural children are afraid of loneliness,
Put a slug next to the pillow;
When I grow up, I work hard in the city.
He bought a night watchman.
He was often envious when he was a child.
The grave grass is the home of slugs;
He's been dead for three hours,
The night watchman didn't stop.
Modern poetry classics: where is my fantasy (in Tianhe? )
Grabbed a round treasure box,
There are some pearls in it:
A glittering and translucent mercury
Colors that cover the whole world,
A golden light
There's a China party,
Fresh raindrops
With your sigh last night ...
Don't go to any watch shop.
Look, your youth has been eaten away,
Don't go to any antique shops.
Buy your grandpa's old furniture.
Look at my round box.
Follow my boat down the river.
Well, although the people in the cabin
Always in the embrace of the blue sky,
Although your handshake
It's a bridge! It's a bridge! Ke Qiao
Also in my round treasure box;
You have my round box.
Maybe they are.
Good things to hang on your ears.
Pearls and gems? -A star?
Classic of modern poetry: a man in green rings the doorbell with familiarity.
Just press on the hearts of residents:
Is it a fish that swam across the Yellow Sea?
Is it a goose flying over Siberia?
"Look at the map," said the man in the distance.
He told me where he was.
The little black dot next to the dotted line.
If it's gold. A little bit,
If my seat is on the top of Mount Tai,
On a moonlit night, I want you to guess where you are.
This must be a lonely railway station.
However, I am reading a history book.
Looking at Xianyang ancient road at sunset,
I waited for the hoof of a fast horse.
A classic of modern poetry: the window glass in front of the old lantern is a mirror.
Don't lift the curtain and overlook, if you don't want to learn from yourself.
But the window in the distance is a deeper mirror:
Whose sad eyes are you looking at under the starlight?
"I can't listen to my snoring with you."
It's a sword, but it can't split the whirlpool of boiling water;
People are in your dreams, and you are in people's dreams.
Those who wake up alone put down their butcher knives and bless you.
Classic works of modern poetry: white snail shell, ethereal white snail shell
Fiber dust is not left in the hole,
It leaked into my hand.
But there are 1000 kinds of feelings:
Your palms are rough,
I lament your masterpiece,
Your heart, the sea,
You are thin enough to wear beads!
But I can't help it:
You are such a neat freak, alas!
Look at the misty rain in this lake.
Soak me like water,
Like the feathers of a bird.
I feel like a small building.
The wind blows, the catkins pass through,
Swallows shuttle between elephants,
There may be a rare book in the building,
The pages are woven for whitebait,
From the word love to the word mourning—
Leave the air!
Delicate, white snail shell, me?
The sea took me to the beach,
In case someone gets it,
May primitive people like it,
Another sheep is still short.
Twenty-eight out of thirty,
It is worth a peach.
Afraid of being picked up by many thinkers:
Empty white snail shell, you
Mention my sadness!
I dreamed of your depression:
The dripping stone steps under the eaves,
Whose rope was sawed at the well site? ...
Time will kill patience!
Yellow is also for chickens,
Cyan returned to the little blue tree,
A rose is a rose,
But when you look back,
The delicate rose stings.
Your tears are still hanging.