Modern Changyao
He was very sad.
He misses his own Fast Valley.
There, bare rocks cling to the cliff,
His yak licked leisurely.
Grass under the snow line.
On the grass beach,
One of his foals is lifting its hoof,
Levy shallow water fee for river bend
Run to the other side of the cow,
Panic and coquetry? .
The sun there has a thick glaze.
The air there is filtered by ice and snow,
Mixed with cream and grass leaves that sting the senses.
With the aroma of yeast?
-Am I not?
A homesick shepherd under a street lamp,
Sleepwalking and my destiny?
Antler branch
Modern Changyao
There are two strains in the skull of stag.
Small trees nourished by essence and blood.
In fog and light
These tall, straight dendrites
Bright and precious,
Escape from dangerous cliffs and swamps,
Deal with hunters.
Centuries later.
On my bookshelf,
On top of my new collection,
I just heard a voice from the hinterland of the plateau.
Guns.
That sunset
Leaning on the wilderness that calls like this,
From Gao Yan. Flying antlers
Suddenly fell down?