An abandoned courtyard on a spring night
The breeze sings in a dream.
Listen to someone's footsteps in the distance.
Someone has returned to his hometown.
If there is moonlight on my pillow
I won't be able to sleep tonight
Because I still have her beautiful image in my heart
Dance my black eyes.
Every time I look up at the blue sky
Clouds float where they once fell.
Every time I embrace the night
The stars twinkle in the farthest place.
Want to shed a few tears under the lamp
Afraid of tears reflecting yesterday's heartbreak
Leave the warm and soft bed
I don't know who spring is waiting for.
You are under the bright window.
Thinking about love in spring
Think of autumn frost
Thinking of all the sweet flowers.
I'm already on my way to waking up from my dream.
Cry secretly
Laugh quietly
Slowly forget your heart.
Forgotten spring
Candlelight forgotten for missing
Or lonely hope?
First, the small forest effect in cities.
Green again, my grove.
Ants and flying insects in the Woods
These humble lives come with spring.
Under the soil, I heard the sound of earthworm crawling.
Knock down the mud-sealed door with a soft head
I saw a flock of goats on the grass in the grove.
Waving his long beard and bleating.
Shook my youth and soul.
A black goat came to me leisurely.
Tears of happiness hung on his face.
Second, open the door of spring.
I hear birds chirping.
In the city, there are several spring birds.
They are afraid to go into town.
Just cheering and jumping outside the classroom.
They are as simple as farmers in the countryside.
Let me sprout a sense of closeness.
They are my friends.
Like a relative I met by chance.
They are looking for unknown bugs.
Make a friendly voice to one's companion
After school, I fell in love with birdsong.
In the debate about birds,
I pushed open the door of spring.
Third, this spring
My heart is at sixes and sevens this spring.
Think for a moment about some tombstones.
Think of my childhood for a while.
My heart is at sixes and sevens this spring.
Poetry in spring is written in spring.
My poems are the leaves of grass and crowns in spring.
This spring,
What else can I do?
Who else can I embrace spring and time with?