"Plum Blossom" text/ Gao Bo
2019-03-10 20:57:00
Throughout the winter, my eyeballs are quietly attracted to you, and I can't bear to be alienated for a moment. In the many objects that are cold to the point of losing their luster, you are in the cold north wind, illusioning a touch of tenderness, a cut of warmth, a frame of sweetness. The hope that plays in the winter, let the snowflakes fly, there is a solid seed sown in the heart, and the buds in the swaddling grains are standing on the branches. The hunting north wind blew and shook my heart. My eyes are full of caresses and concerns, and I hate not being able to take you into my arms, help you resist the cold, and give you some warmth. I also want to hold you in the palm of my hand, and I also want to hold you in my mouth, but sometimes I am in a hurry, and I don't know how to take you well.
I watched you with my own eyes, day by day plump, plump into pearls, I began to count, counting the pearls, and then carefully stored you in the film under the eye mask and pupils. Lest you, a casual turn, leave me.
The long winter season has given me a deeper understanding, and I need love and love comfort in the cold. I just snuggle you tightly, hoping to give you more love and care. People say, I am a flower fanatic, I really hope to become a bee, wandering among flowers, playing among flowers, writing about flowers, and writing poems with flowers.
I love flowers, I love them in the bone marrow. I always like to raise flowers in my heart, water and nourish with my heart, let the flowers bloom in my heart, spit green, and turn the whole heart into a busy world of butterflies and bees. Only let tenderness flow between the flowers, rest between the flowers, get lost among the flowers, and then, with the sweet fragrance, quietly grow old.
These plum blossoms, nourished by my eyes and heart, and in my attentive comfort, bloom day by day. At first, the pea grain was the size of a leaf, unfolding a coat as thin as a cicada's wing, swaying in the wind, like a singing clam, constantly flapping its wings. The wings widened, and tiny pompoms were exposed from the flower's tire coat. Like a butterfly, it flaps its wings and probes its whiskers, and perches on the branches of plum blossoms.
Flowers blossom and fall, flowers fly and flowers are thankful, how much nostalgia has been caused, how much sadness, how much sighing. In fact, people have selfish intentions, and I am no exception. I want my heart to be empty, flowers to bloom forever, branch by branch, flower by flower, blooming into the most beautiful posture, and then frozen, becoming eternal. Not for picking, only for appreciation, not for blasphemy, only for dependence. Store, clone, deposit, copy, forever in the deepest part of the heart. Keep a place where the pure mind rests, tired, tired, and in a quiet corner.
The most endearing thing is the fully blooming plum, in the spring cold of the cracked bark, free and uninhibited, smiling and proud. Jade ice carving, pink makeup posture, pure and elegant, intoxicating the soul. No matter how tired the body and mind, in front of you, the spirit will also be lifted, irritability and sorrow, weakness and helplessness, will run without a trace.
In order to see the plum, I often get up early in the morning. In the morning light, under the shadow of the lamp, a tree plum, like a tree of pear blossoms, pure as snow, jade tree branches, crystal clear, full of dripping. Those plum blossoms pinned between the branches, like white, pink, purple, and the butterflies of unclear colors in front of my eyes, gently looked between the branches and combed leisurely. Stopping by the flower, you seem to be able to hear the orchid-like panting and whispering of the flower.
Those buds that have not yet bloomed, dense, like stars falling from the sky, in the misty morning light, form a vortex of stars, glowing with silver and bright light, shining in the heart, sprinkling a piece of deception.
The throbbing purity of the snow, in the disgusting monotonous winter earth gray, is particularly precious, especially unusual, hate can not be copied from the bottom of the eyes, the original color, the original taste, stored in the bottom of the heart unchanged.
The most stunning, surprising, and fascinating of these plums is the green plum. In Mei's kingdom, she thrives. Swaying in the wind into a girlish pure face. The pure eyes are still blinking, soul-stirring, transcendent, elegant and elegant.
I like to look at Mei from a different perspective. This cluster of green plums, as seen from the north, is a green pompom, solid, and seems to have a fairly hard texture. Looking to the southwest, it was like a bright white lantern, soft as satin, becoming bright green.
It turns out that the mystery is here, and the plum blossom still has a deep-rooted phototropism, a sunny side, and a more exuberant vitality. I am willing to be a light that illuminates you, and in the dark, pale, severe winter environment, the most beautiful scenery in the world.
In the kingdom of plums, pink plums, open-minded; purple plums, shy; white plums, otherworldly; and green plums, simply elves.
I love Mei, I love your Ling Han arrogance; I love Mei, I love your bones; I love Mei, I love your purity and elegance; I love Mei, I love your otherworldliness.
May all the good flowers in the world meet the gentlemen and gentlemen who cherish the flowers as their destiny; may they also love the flowers infatuatedly and have their favorite flowers, so that the flowers will no longer float in the air, and the people will no longer be lonely and sighing. May all the beauty and truth of the world be treated with tenderness!