Who can give some modern poems about "acacia"?

Longing for lovesickness, the breeze pulls the fragrance and tempts the night sky. Desire is unbearable and ready to move, wantonly expanding and ready to move. My mind is glued to the defense door. Screw in a full pot to ease the embarrassment. Soak your desire in cups of lonely white wine, coax a few mouthfuls of sauerkraut, and pour deep red pain. The wound was heavily bandaged with disappointment, sadness and sorrow. Suddenly, my head was torn open and I was lonely. The pain of licking overflowed, and the deeper the licking, the deeper the crack, and the pieces of acacia hardened in the bone marrow. Breathing, wheezing, sighing, lovesickness. Acacia is an arrogant eccentric, always wandering in the emotional garden, and reason finally locks it firmly in the mountains. My heart was boating alone in the lake and suddenly stopped singing beautifully. Acacia trees lie leisurely in the middle of the lake. Fingers flick on the tiny waves, missing is page after page, a picture is a ship sailing on the vast sea or just an old photo of an ancient tree. Sometimes it's so close that you feel like you can blow out a lotus leaf in one breath. Sometimes it is so far away that you can't touch it or see it. Sometimes blurred, like a moonless star. When you light it quietly. And the clarity is like a fresh and beautiful picture, which makes people want to grow up and burst into tears. Missing is the most beautiful picture in a dream. The most beautiful picture, like a red maple in late autumn, turns into the most wonderful picture of life. Missing is sometimes sweet, no matter how far apart, it will make you deeply intoxicated. Missing is sometimes very astringent and sour, like an affectionate seed scattered between rocks and cliffs.