Text/Zhang Juan
Xia Feng is keen on poetry.
Setting a page of unintentional sadness is silent.
Thoughts run in the wasteland at night.
As clear as a forest
When the eyebrows are low, you can still see a person's feelings.
The evening breeze drifted to the place where the leaves were scattered.
Every seat walks quietly along the street lamp.
The crowd on the bridge asked nothing.
Travel through the road of time and see the brocade through your eyes.
Mountains and rivers blend in the moonlight.
The lush trees under the green forest have come and gone.
There are trees in summer, full of green eyes, looking forward to the fleeting time.
That's a comforting memory.
Has been sealed in the mottled past.
Looking at the lines, I burst into tears.
I am the reader who finished reading the last poem.