Vague memory, just beginning.
No network can match.
March has passed.
But in the future, the night is short.
We saw the past through the darkness.
I also saw the future.
I don't know where to go.
You said, lovelorn.
Not worth mentioning.
Two times and three times, mention
Still meaningless
In April, a hundred flowers blossom.
The moon brushed time with its gentle face.
I'm still thinking, I'm still thinking.
When can I hold hands with you
Facing the flowers all over the world
But such people are depressed.
Walk out of the village
What about May and June?
Meeting is as short as getting to know each other.
No matter in different places or home.
But there are no poems.
Can only recall
Memories, fear of death
July, July 7th.
It was a day without rain.
No sunshine, no moonlight.
Well, I was thinking
I'm still thinking
Where are you?
Tears Modern Poetry 2 Come on, brothers lying on the tracks.
I propose a toast to you in the cemetery.
There are apples, oranges and red dates on the altar.
This is the fruit of an orchard growing in the sun.
I suffer from peach blossom disease.
Spring rehabilitation
You have to call me brother.
Today, I have no paper money for you.
Because I am as poor as the land.
When Gu Xiao is melodious, I will read you a meaningful poem.
Come on, brother with bones hanging on his body, the moon star is rare.
We sat on the stone and pulled it home.
I'll tell you, grass-roots Aries, look for grasslands.
The ancestor of the river looking for its source-the mother of the sea
Young men and women in villages and wheat fields wear bright clothes.
They are devout poets.
Recite your name.
Come on, it smells like Mads' brother.
I will give up the temptation of TV.
Back to the poor March in the sun
I will always think of my father.
A father who gradually lost his memory.
A father with a broken body.
Walk against the wall. Call him.
Comfort him with a distant son.
Come on, brother who takes dreams as horses.
Smoke a bad Huangshan brand cigarette
This is my food for writing poems. I have smoked this kind of cigarette.
I'm going back to poor March
Go to work, get off work and clean the house.
Repair tables and chairs, train daughters.
In this moonlight, I miss my distant "lover"
My body is an ordinary body.
It's nobles, what they call ordinary people.
I recall with pain, and I suffer in memory.
March 26
Read your poem and cry in the wind.
Tears modern poem 3 "The little girl who mowed the pig grass burst into tears"
Poetry/peace
Every day, every day,
The sun is sinking in the west
I walked on that narrow path.
Every day, every day, the sun goes down
There is a delicate girl.
Walk past my eyes
Go that way.
Endless grassland
A large basket made of thin strips on the back.
Taishan is holding her back.
With a sickle in his hand.
It records like a crescent moon.
She mows grass every day.
She seems very tired.
She walked with difficulty.
Every step
It's like leaving
A tear from a sore spot, a tear.
A breeze blew from the distant mountain.
Lawn green wave turning
The little girl straightened up.
Petite hand
Wipe sweat on your forehead.
Nice throw
Accompanied by a green wave brush.
Delicate singing.
Swing in the green air
The silhouette of Dan Qing's wonderful hand is difficult to draw.
As if, every wild flower
Every white cloud
Open because of her.
And elegant.
childlike innocence
Full of mature long-cherished wishes
This is a great symbol of the times.
The school needs these grasses.
Motherly love needs this grassland.
The jointing stage of children
This grassland is also needed.
For the motherland.
The long Great Wall
The little girl made a red brick.
One end is connected with the Great Wall.
One end is connected to the grassland.
Every day, every day, at sunset.
I won't forget to walk on this grass.
That narrow path
Enriched my spiritual poetry.
On the foot socket where the little girl walked.
I wrote it down.
The name of the future daughter
Author brief introduction Ping An, a native of Harbin, Heilongjiang, a teacher, a member of the Chinese Writers Association, has published more than 5 million works, and is good at novels, TV plays, poems and essays. I usually train my children to write, and I have seen more than 700 children's works in the newspaper.