I understand your silent concern.
You know me, silent and gentle.
Days when the wind is light and the clouds are light.
We met warmly.
Avoid all the prosperity
Hide an initial heart
With you, * * * appreciate the beauty of this season.
A poem, a scene
Green window to cultivate mood
Warm time under the eaves
Simplicity and serenity
In the years, the background color of time
Or my favorite pure white.
Have you, accompany
Pastoral scenery
It's a beautiful picture.
Listen to the wind and watch the rain.
Quietly experience the rhythm of cicada singing
Compose a song, full moon in the west building.
Light a heart lamp
The bright sky in August
May the land of Long Yuan
Everywhere is fragrant and intoxicating.
Modern Poetry in August 2 The lotus leaves that meet the sky in August are swaying.
The sun shines from the warm south in Longhu, the ancient capital of Huaiyang.
I drove eight thousand miles, and the clouds and the moon are in this beautiful place.
Sprinkle a little flashing miss on the slender lotus.
This wanderer who walked in the distance in August
Put a heart in the rain and wait for the north wind.
I found a lotus leaf in Longhu, my hometown.
Walking on the head of the Central Plains.
There are lotus flowers competing to open in August.
Bloom in the beautiful hometown, dye a dream floating in the south.
In August this year, I looked at the sky in the north from the south.
Imagine the beautiful and moving lotus trip in Huaiyang, my hometown.
This descendant of Huang Xi who left the ancient capital Huaiyang in August.
Spread the fragrance of lotus everywhere near the sun.
This homesick wing was released from the south in August.
Stop on the lotus leaf that is muddy but not stained.
Call a familiar phone number at home.
Wanderers walking in the south heard the sound of water drops rolling down the lotus leaves.
The parents' words on the other end of the phone are affectionate.
Wanderers walking in the south see lotus flowers blooming in the sun.
This touching story of August has been staged again and again.
This August meditation has repeatedly precipitated.
This August, a heart will fill the whole lotus pond.
This August, every dream will have an empty heart of love.
Modern Poetry in August 3 Lake Light in August
Take a shower.
Fine willow branches
Why are you disappointed?
whether or not
The autumn wind is too cold.
Worry too long
Let the moonlight of lovesickness
Shine on the sleeping lake
Injured alone.
Moonlight in the city
Can't get through the fence
tree leaf
But it's yellow
Why?
I am on the earth.
You are in the sky
Let the tears of acacia
Reflected in the broken bridge corridor
Look at each other.
The noisy city is too busy.
The lonely moon palace is desolate again.
Meet across the milky way
Still have to wait.
365 stars.
More than 8,700 sunsets and early mornings.
how far
see you again
And deliberately avoided it.
Gossip eyes
The Mid-Autumn full moon just climbed the window beam.
Watching the moon in the shadows until dawn.
A cold night
Still thinking
365 miles of long night.
8,700 waterways flow leisurely.
Fate was born today.
Dreaming in his hometown
When shall we meet?
The same moon
Modern poems splash ink on the fourth day of August, rendering the romance of summer.
The inscription of fallen leaves is engraved with the quiet beauty of autumn.
Water drops washed the rain and moistened the branches of the wilderness.
Cool brings a touch of autumn rhyme.
Shallow, gentle and quiet.
Set off a beautiful scenery
Remember this season.
Written in August
August
Quiet as a picture, the wind is light and the rain is oblique.
Look at the chengjiang river, the forest is dyed.
Green autumn leaves in the sad twilight.
Slight overflow
Dance in a graceful arc
Clear loneliness carries cold.
Like an elf.
Shuttle through the quiet and tortuous buildings
August
Hazy as poetry, gentle and quiet.
Shake the incense and smile.
Clusters of twigs in the bright autumn sunshine
The fragrance is surging
Indifference and silence have no intention of mortal life.
Stroll forward.
Dancing in the soft and cold sky
August
Return to Hong without a letter, bleak autumn injury.
Pick a red leaf and lock your smile.
A piece of acacia with pale love.
Cool thin is dazzling.
Who will be happy forever?
Unfold plain paper
A few years left a sigh.
When modern poetry is not sleepy on August 5,
Consciousness is no longer blurred,
I think for the first time,
Thinking, chanting,
That person is you.
Time will make people old,
Time can make us throw it away,
Many people and things,
The mountain peak collapsed,
The river is broken,
The tree withered,
But what can this do?
I will still miss you,
I will never forget you,
In the deepest part of my memory.
In August this year,
The intoxicating smell fills this season,
That's me thinking about you.
In August,
That sweet-scented osmanthus fragrance,
Open to you and welcome you,
It is the breath of missing that breeds your growth.
Your beauty belongs only to her.
I want you to cross the ocean,
I want you to fly away,
Come to her side,
Let the breath of missing fill her life,
Let my blessing bring her good luck.
In August,
That's because I miss you,
My love.
Modern poetry will pass in August, June and July, and the favorite August will come.
All unhappiness will pass and a new life will come.
July, parting July, sad July.
With the continuous rainstorm, a sunny day disappeared in an unforgettable 20xx year.
July, happy July, excited July.
The moment my sister saw the results of the college entrance examination, it was doomed to be unforgettable.
At this point, the career of senior one has come to an end.
I have always refused to believe that I am a high school student.
This year, I have experienced too much.
Grow up, mature, no longer the silly child who believes in fairy tales.
Repeated blows, repeated disappointments,
But I stood up bravely and strongly.
Sometimes, even if you are tired,
But I dare not give up easily, because I don't want to give up any chance to climb.
Senior two, what a distant word, now appears clearly.
It's time to fight.
Look at the people around you, their ideals, Fudan, Zhejiang, Beiwai.
How far is it for me?
Maybe this is the gap.
I have never obeyed the rules and refused to admit defeat.
Now he bowed his head in front of reality.
Too many, but they still evaporated in July in this hot summer.
I hope August, the August I yearn for and the August I like will bring me new touch and new hope!
Modern poetry in August July and August, firelight
Text/Zizhuxin
Some are burning, some are stumbling, some are too late to bloom, and some are not yet grown up.
In this way, the protagonist of the story is lost and staggered, so that it is skewed into a dreamy plot.
Listen, those silent languages; Look, those dumb voices that never vibrate.
Those you and I didn't walk into, those he or she didn't go backwards. Only multimedia scrolling and expansion.
One connection spread to ten, and ten connections spread to hundreds, copied into a monstrous torrent, constantly clamoring.
The hero's blood is still flowing, and that fire has lit up the darkness, every inch, every inch.
My pen writes down August, the ruins, the figure running in the ruins.
Even if there is no body, it shuttles through the hot midnight, and the future is green.
Orange frozen life will turn this August, this midnight, into a flame of love.
Burning, just to put out; Quenching, only applicable to cast steel. One generation is young and the other is strong.
Whistling and leaving quietly. That bright red blood, through fire and water.
Into the August military songs, into the spirit of August, charge, trap, sonorous.