My wheat
The sandy beach I owned, destitute
Shadow is lonely, and I am lonely
Every pebble hides a killing machine
My night, too, is the devil's
Night, drunken fairy, one
Take one and go to sleep
I secretly buried a grain of wheat seed, and I didn't know it yet
What a harvest looks like, against the backdrop of sunlight
The most important thing is to see a little bit of green first
A handful of wheat is a race
A handful of wheat, they can
Tall, fat and thin, can intermarry
Can make friends
You can argue on the basis of quality
On the royal family and the magnates
Divide the three religions and nine streams
Bandits who gather in the mountains and forests must be exceptions
They have genetic mutations, individually
There are anti-bones
When you see the sky, you see the land
When you see the sky, you see the land below
The sky is big and the land is big
Every time there is a wind, there is a bad weather
Occasional thunder, but also rain
The soil is never picky about rain
The quality of the harvest always depends on the raindrops
If you harvest three or five buckets more than a year, the peasants will
Silly happy, for many days, looking at these grains
I felt like I had become the Emperor of the Earth
Xu Xiaotian, pen name Mr. Buye, is a plain poet and president of the World Chinese Poetry Society. His works include poetry, essays, novels, papers, academic theories, miscellaneous reviews, reportage, etc., and many works have been selected by literary websites and print media journals.