No matter in study, work or life, everyone has come into contact with classic poems, which have a clear and orderly rhythm and a beautiful rhyme. Are you still looking for excellent classic poems? The following is a poem about July, which I compiled. I hope it will help you.
I don't know
What is the attitude at the end of adolescence?
I don't know
What road should we take in the future of life?
The wind in July woke up my dream.
Shake off everything in the past
I woke up with the poem in July.
What's the scene?
There are no tears behind youth.
Choose to wait at the end of the dream.
I spent countless July.
July in the north, July in the south of the Yangtze River, and July in youth.
I entered the perfect July.
Decadent July, dark July, brilliant July
The rain in July is an angel's tears.
The wind in July is an angel's kiss.
But the angel in July is like a snake.
Wandering around us, wandering around
I don't know
Will the departed birds come back?
I don't know
Will the heart tremble when it loses its wish?
July is like a key to the world.
There are tender apples and melancholy peaks in July.
There are beautiful rainbows in July.
When July's cough stung my throat.
When the sunshine in July stung my eyes
How can we get out of the fate of branding along the palm print?
How to get out of July when I was born
Lonely July is still struggling to support.
When the pain in July becomes more and more difficult.
When the soul of July begins to tilt
How can we save July from reincarnation?
July petals and July grass.
July lover, July skirt
Palm in July and tears in July.
All the songs in July are floating in seclusion together.
In that confused and distant sky
In the twilight purple light
On the phosphorescent lake
Flowers bloom like blood in July.
Pain and happiness bloom and wither.
The soil falling under the buttonwood tree
Become a bookmark that floats with the wind.
Gentle laughter fell into the waves.
Turn into a transparent rainbow
In the golden light of Asahi
In the breeze on your face
I searched for and saved the past July.
But July's body will no longer exist.
I will leave in July.
And I'm still lost in July.
It's like falling into an abandoned castle
Flowing July is like the direction of life.
I can't get rid of it anymore.
Now I count the stars on the river in July.
Looking at the calm and undulating river as my heart.
I really want to jump
Jump into the river and become a fish in July.
A fish without memory
I think I can forget July.
Filariasis in July
Text/Yuan Fu
See a river. Scenery and waterwheels. I was just born in July.
God's child may just be an escaped firebird.
The feathers dragged on the wings of the sun may be just a small piece.
Drift ashore from the endless bend of the river. My love mission
As simple as life. It doesn't fly anymore. Air reincarnation
A river that has never lost its wings.
My family doesn't know where it is. I can't name it.
I stood barefoot on the beach. Not far from weeping willows.
Weary and weary through illness is full of sunset and all people's days, and the water has already flowed silently.
I see. I see. That's it, in that nameless river.
Stand up straight in the moonlight. I will be your only amorous feelings bird.
Burn your last feather. Inadvertently led to the bonfire being deceived.
July. Dirty fire. White clouds on the river
Finally, it was ignited for no reason, and the feathers creaked.
Has been swaying under the water of sleep. I can't see floating algae and water fleas.
A firebird. A feather. And my fragile life
Never become body double. Whose? Calling and touching
Suspended above the wound Let the salt pass through the water, the wings of moonlight
I don't cry anymore. God's hands are stained with blood.
On a night of burning feathers, I
Holding my mother's 27-year-old hair, she is going to be born. See a river
Wheat in the north
Farmer's children
Wandering footsteps can't step out of July
Fragrant rice just out of the south.
Set foot on the wheat waves in the north
The north of the north
The wheat in July is full and plump.
Lengthens all the happiness.
Father who sticks to the land
Like an enlightened monk.
Meditate on the scriptures about wheat.
Mo Tian and the village
Dissolved all my father's thoughts
A path
This is my father's life journey.
Father's journey
Food and water are the only beliefs.
The wheat in July is closest to my father.
Honey has become all my troubles.
I wandered in the desert in the north.
Pick up handfuls of yellow sand
Looking for wheat grains hundreds of millions of years ago
After harvest
Father's straw hat collapsed.
Fall down on a rosy afternoon
A sickle with a missing blade
Xie Fang Longtou
Bundles of wheat piled up into mountains.
rich soil
Scarecrow retired and went home.
Cunning birds are evasive.
Father's body is covered with mud.
Tears of happiness are flowing.
Life in my hometown begins at dusk.
Mother's stove smells of wheat.
Smoke intoxicated the distant village.
A wanderer's heart returns to his hometown.
Pick up the ears of wheat left by my father
Untitled
Cities without rural areas
My body.
Squeezed in the cement forest
The soul is barren and empty.
Like Gobi, like desert.
I have nothing tonight.
Harvest the sun and the moon with a sickle in the air.
A life of nothingness
A hurried pace
Look at this road.