How to let you meet me
In my most beautiful moment
for this reason
I prayed in front of the Buddha for 500 years.
Pray for Buddha to let us have a dusty relationship.
Buddha made me a tree.
Follow the path you may take.
Under?the?sun
Carefully full of flowers.
Every flower carries my previous hopes.
When you get close,
Listen carefully
Trembling leaves
This is the passion I am waiting for.
When you walked under the tree, you didn't notice me.
On the ground behind you
My friend,
Not falling petals
But my withered heart.
I do.-petofi.
I would like to be a torrent, as long as my lover.
This is a small fish.
Swim around happily in my waves.
I would like to be a barren forest, as long as my lover.
This is a bird.
Nest in my dense forest.
I would like to be in ruins, as long as my lover.
This is the ivy of youth.
Climb up intimately along my desolate forehead.
I would like to be a cabin, as long as my lover.
This is a lovely flame
Blinking happily in my stove.
I would like to be a gray flag, as long as my lover.
This is a coral sunset.
There was a light on my pale face.
To Cha Daieff Pushkin
Love, hope, quiet glory
You cann't lie to us for long,
Is the joy of youth,
It also disappeared like a dream, like a fog;
But our hearts are still full of longing,
Under the pressure of the brutal regime,
We are anxious.
Listen to the call of the motherland.
We endure the torture of expectation,
Waiting for the sacred free time,
Like young lovers.
Waiting for that sincere date.
Now the fire of freedom is still burning in our hearts,
Now our dedication to honor is not dead,
My friend, we should put our hearts and minds.
Beautiful passion, all presented to our Zubang!
Believe it, comrade: a charming and happy star.
Will rise and shine,
Russia wants to wake up from sleep,
On the ruins of tyranny,
Will write our names!
Motherland, my dear motherland Shu Ting.
I am an old waterwheel worn by your river,
Tired songs that have been spun for hundreds of years;
I am a miner's lamp blackened on your forehead,
Do what you do in the tunnel of history;
I am a withered ear of rice; It is a roadbed that has been in disrepair for a long time;
This is a barge on the beach.
Draw the rope deep
Pull into your shoulder;
-the motherland!
I'm poor,
I am sad.
I am your ancestor.
Painful hope,
It's a flying sleeve.
Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years;
-the motherland!
I'm your new idea,
Just broke free from the spider web of myth;
I am your snow quilt, the germ of ancient lotus;
I am your laughing vortex with tears hanging;
I am the newly painted white starting line;
This is the crimson dawn,
It is sprayed;
-the motherland!
I'm one billionth of you,
Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters;
With your scarred breasts,
raise
Lost me, considerate me, boiling me;
And then from my flesh and blood
get
Your richness, your glory, your freedom;
-the motherland,
My dear motherland!
Snow-white wall beams
Mom,
I see snow-white walls.
In the morning, I went shopping to buy crayons.
Saw a worker
It takes a lot of effort,
Paint a long fence
He turned and smiled at me,
He called me.
Tell all the children:
Don't scribble on this wall in the future.
Mom,
I see snow-white walls.
It used to be dirty here,
Write a lot of rude words.
Mom, you cried, too,
Because of those insults,
Dad left,
Gone forever.
Whiter than the milk I drink,
White walls,
Has been flashing in my dreams,
It still stands on the horizon,
Shining charming light during the day.
I like white walls.
Never scribble on this wall,
I won't,
As gentle as mother's sunny sky,
Did you hear that?
Mom,
I see snow-white walls.
Facing the sea, Haizi blooms in spring.
From tomorrow on, I want to be a happy person;
Comb hair, chop wood and travel around the world.
From tomorrow on, I will care about food and vegetables.
Living in a house facing the sea, spring is blooming.
From tomorrow on, write to everyone I love.
Tell them my happiness,
What did the lightning of happiness tell me,
I will distribute it to each of them.
Give every river and mountain a warm name.
Stranger, I will also wish you happiness.
I wish you a bright future!
May you lovers get married!
May you be happy on earth.
I only want to face the sea and spring blossoms.
Mourn for a maple tree, Han Niu.
I want to write a few pages of poetry and put you at the end.
Keep a few green leaves
-From the diary
On the hill by the lake
The tallest maple tree
fall ...
On an autumn morning
Several villages
And this Shan Ye.
I heard it, and I felt it.
The sound of maple trees falling
Jiajiade doors, windows and roofing tiles
Every tree, every grass
Every wild flower
Birds in the tree, bees in the flowers
A boat moored by the lake
tremble with fear ...
Is it because of sadness?
This day
The whole village
And this Shan Ye.
There is a thick fragrance floating in.
faint scent
Fall on people's hearts
It's colder than autumn rain.
accidental
A maple tree
The epidermis is gray and rough.
With a bitter taste.
But in its life,
But it stores so much fragrance.
sweet
Sad
Maple is upright.
Lying on the grass and thorns
So big, so green.
It looks better than standing.
And magnificent and beautiful.
On the third day after logging,
The branches and leaves are still in the breeze.
Shake in a rustling way
There are still bright dewdrops hanging on the leaves.
Like a billion pairs of tearful eyes
Say goodbye to nature
Oh, the white crane by the lake
Oh, the eagle in the distance
Still flying towards the maple tree
maple
Break into wide boards
Ring by ring.
Flow out in a circle
Solidified tears
teardrop
It is also fragrant.
Not tears, right?
This is the life of the maple tree.
There are no dead blood cells yet
A hill near the village
Shrink a lot
As if bowed his head.
fall
A maple tree
fall
Life connected with the earth
Pray for Cai Qijiao.
I pray that there will be wind in summer and little rain in winter;
I want red and purple flowers;
I pray that love will not be laughed at,
Fall and be supported;
I prayed for sympathy—
When people are sad
At least give some comfort.
Instead of coldly Leng Mei;
I pray that knowledge will be the source.
It's pouring in every day,
Not this prohibition, that prohibition;
I pray that this song comes from everyone's chest.
Nobody wants to be a model.
Set high and low levels for all tones;
I pray
One day, no one will
Pray like me.
Give me back my strictness
Please give me back that unlocked door.
Even if there is no room, please give it back to me.
Please give me back the rooster that woke me up in the morning.
Please give me back my bones, even if you have eaten them.
Please give me back the pastoral on the hillside.
Even if you record it on tape.
Please give me back my melodious flute, too.
Please give it back to me.
My relationship with my brothers and sisters
Even if it is only half a year, please give it back to me.
Please give me back the space of love.
Even if it has been polluted by you.
Please give my dream back to me.
Please give me back the whole earth.
Even if you divide it into
A thousand countries
100 million villages
Please give it back to me, too
Fort McKinley Roman
Beyond greatness
It is human's ignorance of greatness.
Who sat here crying in the war?
Its laughter once plunged 70,000 souls into a deeper abyss than sleep.
The sun is cold, the stars and the moon are cold, and the waves in the Pacific Ocean are boiled by gunfire.
Smith Williams Fireworks Festival is too glorious to take you home.
Your name shipped back to your hometown is colder than the sea water in winter.
Where is the hand of your savior in the noise of death?
Blood washed away the great memorial.
The war is crying. Why doesn't it laugh?
70,000 cruciferous flowers form a garden, and the village is surrounded by lilies.
Not moving in the wind, not moving in the rain.
Silence shows the paleness of Manila Bay to the tourists' cameras.
Smith Williams is a mirror image of the death barrier. I just want to know
Where did your eyes play when you were a child?
Where are the tapes and color slides of spring?
The birds in Fort McKinley don't crow, and the leaves dare not move.
Every sound will make the silence here bleed.
Space is insulated from space. Time escaped from the clock.
There is less talk here than the gloomy horizon, and it is always silent.
Beautiful silent room, the garden of the dead, the scenic spot of the living.
God has come to admire, and the car and the city have come.
Smith Williams, you can't come or leave.
Still like taking off the surface of the pendulum, you can't see the face of the years clearly.
In the day and night, in the night when the stars disappear.
Your blind eyes fall asleep regardless of season.
When I woke up, I found an incomprehensible world.
Sleeping soundly, Fort McKinley's particularly melancholy green grass.
Death is crowded with shrines on the screaming marble.
Show the complete star-spangled banner to immortality and clouds.
Fort McKinley is a land-based Pacific Ocean, and its waves are shaped into a forest of steles.
A huge relief hangs on the darkest background of death, with tears flowing.
Seventy thousand stories were burned in the white trembling.
Smith Williams, when the sunset burns red, the wild mango grove is at a loss.
God will leave in a hurry and the stars will fall.
You're not going anywhere.
There is no door at the bottom of the gloomy Pacific Ocean.