(1) Old photos
He wandered through the tree-lined paths
Dewdrops reflect the diamond's glow in the sunlight
The morning fog shines through the leaves
The light and shadow in the air gradually converged
An old photograph faded in my mind
Wisteria roses cover the branches and pour like a waterfall
A rocking chair lies quietly underneath
Grandma sat in the sun and touched my head
Fan gently fanned the cat lying on its side
I held out my hands that had long grown up
Gently stroke Stroke a moment of sunlight
(2) Blurred figures
The evening sun had lost its warmth
Pedestrians wander in pairs on the road
Crazy traffic on the streets
The black mandala loomed
The parting horn gradually sounded
Fuso in September is also sending you off
The roar of the train reverberated in my ears
It's like a race against time to get you out of here
The back in the dream blurs in the fog
Long-lost sounds drifted around with the breeze
The Picture book of time is about to turn over this one
The paper kites in the sky are thinking of me
(3) Recitation
By the way of the column, no one knows
Masanori Furui New Dock Replacement
The trees fall in the shadows
The moon satan in front of the old
In the dream, I am delusional
Hu Di gradually lost his qiang flute
The wind is warm like Gangnam
People are not in love
(iv) The end
I went all the way west to see the scenery of the world
Stumbling through the desert
There was an old man waiting for the white bones under the spring
Wanted to tell him with my low throat
Souls that have long since withered are on their way to the appointment
Heavy snow is raging in the crazy frozen mountains
Pick a pure snow lotus
The withered roots are deeply rooted in the soil
In the distant wind and snow, a figure was wrapped around it
The haughty Tibetan mastiff gazes at his territory
Finally I came to the end with a waddling step
The scenery of the human world is presented here
Some people are full of spirit in the year of crowning, but some people are not clothed
Some people are not confused about fame and fortune, but some people are poor
Some people are old enough to raise their lives, but some people are buried in the mud
A stage slowly began to sing in the corner
Sing a play Sing a play in a play confused you
Sing a play Sing a play about the missing you
Sing a play Sing a play Sing a play in a bustling crowd
Sent to you
It's a scene where someone leaves and someone returns
(5) White roses
The white roses of Valentine's Day have long withered
Withered petals
Or fall into the dirt or drift with the wind
The rhizomes rot in the soil
A new round of blooming is coming
Maybe I should roll it into a rose out of white paper
Then the roses will not wither
Maybe I should replace words with actions
That way the estrangement will not deepen
Maybe I just have you for a short time
Just like roses are only in short bloom
(vi) That year under the curtain
I shuttled through the torrential rains of midsummer
Search for traces of your existence
But maybe I came too late
The traces have long been washed away by the heavy rain
You promised to accompany me to enjoy the snow
I also fantasized about a two-person walk with white heads
Borrow heavy snow to put a white veil on you
Coveting will accompany you for the rest of your life
The flow of years divides us brick by brick
I hide my words to you in the wind
But words cannot express the thoughts of you
I don't want to talk and just want to see you again
Under the curtain that year
(7) Flowering day in the coming year
I want to pluck a petal from the palm of your hand
Buried under a tree on campus
Wait for the next year's flower day
Welcomed us to our first reunion
The May wind blows the ends of your hair
You walk slowly, and the floral fragrance is rubbed into the wind
Pine needles rustle and play a joyful minor key
The rousing music is urging me to run to you
I reach out and want to touch your hands and can't wait
Heavy rain invaded me with my hands through your apparition
Everything stopped at last year's Blossom Day
You follow a petal in the palm of your hand
I was buried deep under the trees on campus
About the author
Sunset Chang'an: Loves words, likes to write something and listen to music in his spare time, and dreams of becoming a monk.
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