I ate cicadas.
Because I hate its tireless noise.
I take it for granted.
Later, the forest became a city.
The starlight turned into a street lamp.
There are no cicadas singing in summer nights.
I shed tears.
I envy his proud posture in the dark.
But I didn't become brave because I ate it.
Mikmori's country night
midnight
You go to the slope.
Half of them are connected by rivers and towns.
Half of them are Caofu Village.
earlier times
Poxia jiangjian
Borrow water for boating.
at present
Poshangjiangzhong
Take a bridge or a car.
Look at half of the river.
The night is just fuzzy ink.
The moonlight was rubbed into the dark clouds.
Sprinkle it gently on the newly-built high-rise building not far away.
Or illuminated by a lamp.
Shooting at the cement road site.
You look in the grass.
Night is a painting that has just been put to paper.
The red sun has disappeared.
Leaving an orange that gradually turns red.
Gradually disappear from the ground to the sky
They blocked the white clouds in the distance.
He said that he would freeze a colorful collection of paintings for those who stopped.
That night is already deep.
People who come and go don't want to turn on the light.
Afraid of disturbing this chic.
Everyone has a bright light in his heart.
Believe in the smooth road under your feet
Must have run away with hope.
Chi Xin's Huayu
Bubbles in the water flow down with the current.
Tired of starlight creativity
Sunset micro-delivery
Look at the flowers blooming in the dust.
Look at the end of the eye.
There is a path covered with moss.
How deep is this road?
Have their own fragrant suburbs and green time.
The hairspring fluttered in the wind.
In a small temple in the distance.
Incense ash burned out
Smoke drifts out of your figure.
I want to stay in spring.
Yiyi Li Meng
The pillow is next to it.
But I can't find it anywhere.
Dew night
The chill is deep
In your cluster.
There is nothing but withered flowers.
Poetry was first published on the home page. Write the poem number and look at Jeysey.