The long years, quietly flying by, accompanied by a few spring rains, a few rolls of sea breeze. A person, a book, a cup of tea, a curtain of dreams, chewing on the past that cannot be forgotten, looking back at the past that cannot be returned.
I often wandered alone, looking for footprints that had long since been washed away by the rain. Go to find the crane village that once promised the land and the sky, cross the long alleys in the drizzle, and look forward to looking at the lotus in the dream.
You are a lotus with dew on me, even if you stay for a short time, that drop of dew is still on the delicate petals, rolling. Whenever night came, the stars flickered with soul-destroying acacia, and the wooden bed on which I lay squeaked a night of painful insomnia.
This kind of moment, like the life of the moon, relies on some memories to feed the loneliness, pawn some days to nourish the feelings. Can those lost loves be seen again when the flowers bloom? Can those lost youths still find their memories in the twilight? I always wanted to leave a love poem in the pages of the spring book, but I was mistakenly turned over by the breeze.
On the red dust, when love ensues, how perfect the scene is. Two birds fly to the same tree, nest in the value of life, and wait in mutual concern. A faint greeting, but like spring boiled tea, peach willow buds, there is a light and fresh beauty, the flower branches are covered with sunshine.
My love bird, a pair of invisible wings, carries happiness, waiting for a purple and red flower to build a dream together, guarding a period of cold and warm intertwined time and slowly growing old.
At that time, the moment you bowed your head and was shy, how cute it was, all the hardships and pains, and you would also open a smile that you had never experienced before. As if you were dazzling and cold at the beginning, my world is full of your bright figure. Look up in tears, listen in songs, hold down the storm inside, and hold on to that complete clear sky.
At that time, because of love, I learned to collect time and dry and rejoice. Every time you walk in a fragrant way, it makes my heart flutter. Look out at you facing you, let the warm lips, red on your acacia cheeks. At that moment, the dusty heart was pierced by your hot teardrops, flowing out a string of ordinary poetry.
Think about it, plant the most beautiful words in your heart - accompany you. One day you conceive a string of poems, stir your heart, in the endless story, plain and crazy, like you, the world is independent.
I really want to write poems for only one person, and only one person is used in the poems, which will not change for a thousand years, and will continue for thousands of years. All the innate languages are spoken only to you alone and remembered until they are unforgettable. Don't arrange poetry for it, don't use a sentence to tease throughout, and there is no rest, just take the full affection, in exchange for your smile on me, a hundred years, a thousand years, the sea withers and rots. You and I sit opposite each other in the poem, drawing concern for each other, in this life and in the next life.
Letting you read my poems is the direction of my life's work. Poetry is the heart, plant my heart in your heart for you to read at any time. The language of the poem is purely diamonds, one by one embedded in the walls of the heart, with the painstaking efforts of both of us to provide a happy life.
The years are passing in a hurry, and I will not forget because of the loss of time. Spring, summer, autumn and winter, thoughts do not count day and night. Thinking of you, thinking of becoming a poem.
Lotus, on the water side. The flower season is no longer coming, and I am no longer floating in the sea of romantic love. I use the poetry of my pen to restore the memories that were once broken; I use the poetry of my pen to decorate all the days of tomorrow.
Then, banish the heart...
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