Modern poems about Wenling’s regional scenery and culture

If you are moving forward slowly

The horses are lazy, and the six bridle ropes are full of clouds

If you are moving forward in a hurry

The horses are gentle and the whips are flying

The white flowers bloom in February, you can’t escape, no matter where you are

Rest

You will be captured wherever you are. I keep watch.

If you tell me

how your arms drop, I will tell you

how you will wave again; if you tell me

what you see What is disappearing

I will tell you which one you are