Goodbye September: May you live up to Shaohua and live up to Jinqiu
In September, after the autumn wind and sunshine fall in love, the yellow rhyme begins to go light. Falling leaves, frozen in the moment of love, mountains and rivers like splashing colored ink, spreading all over the mountains as if covered with gorgeous Shu brocade, making people dizzy.
Falling leaves fluttered on the trees, like parachute jumpers, rolling on the ground, as if a turn, sweeping away the worries in people's hearts and taking away the sorrows in people's hearts.
The wind of September, holding the yellow leaves flying and fluttering, holding her last attachment to the branches, whether she was looking for who was the pusher behind the big red and purple, not to say parting, not to say that time returned to the root washed away her color, echoing in the dense forest where the evening wind blew Buddha.
The leaves of September are liberated from a tree in the world, not to mention the relentless autumn wind, not to say the reluctance of the big tree, tearing apart countless nights, resolutely turning around and emptying the branches, wrapped in a golden yellow, the afterglow pulling up the hem of the skirt and lowering it repeatedly, and thinking of walking through the streets and alleys of a city.
In the trees of September, the fallen leaves are far away from those unforgettable days, wandering for a lifetime, dreams and non-finalities must be returned to the roots, only the harvest is full of sideburns, in the arms of the forest, whether it is morning or dusk, spring and summer cycles rest and precipitate out a clear and transparent.
I stood on the mountain beam at the end of September, picked up a fallen leaf and carved my name to take home, and in the spring of the next year, if anyone would call out her name, as long as she said yes, my body would grow a new green, even if it was dusk, it would bloom a gorgeous flower.
September is the golden autumn season, and the difference between winter is that a long winter fog is snowy, one is late autumn exquisite golden, I don't know where those fallen leaves finally go, I just want to be the same as the fallen leaves, with a heart of hope to welcome the blossoms of spring and warmth, with a graceful attitude to live romantically, even in the ruins, but also like falling leaves to create romance to find heaven, and strive to make their withering full of hope.
See you in September. The flowers of October bloomed all over the earth, the mountains and rivers, and all over my hometown. Encountering summer shows the exuberance of life, and summer is favored by lightning and thunder, and looks like crazy into what you like.
The wind of October, although it also swirled the sadness on the ground, but it hung the haggard branches, interpreting the strength of life, the maple dyed the valley of clouds, the mountains and rivers gracefully turned into a fiery red ocean, the flag, a festive smiley face, held aloft, a fiery red in the heart.
The earth, the fields and the mountains on the banks of the river in October, like the bride to be married, are draped in neon clothes woven for three seasons, the maple leaves are fiery red and flying, and the red lips are lonely, just kissing the flow of the upper lip corners. Rivers, seas, rivers and lakes, reflecting Qianqian, maple red curtains up the west wind, paving a pool of melancholy thoughts. Flying geese are green and colorful in the south of the river, and the face of the sunset glows with a happy red light.
In October, the ripe joy of the collision brewed three seasons of pride, and the maple leaves stained the sky red with clouds, like fire like blood. Let people's spirit and flesh feel the mountains and rivers in the same spring, the mountains and rivers and fields hold up the harvest of Chinese red, static and moving pictures. Bright red leaves swaying in the winds on the treetops, slamming to the ground and overflowing with the smell of ripeness.
Walking into October, the faint white clouds, the sky blue streaming, the autumn wind, patting the red branches one by one, were lifted up, and then put down, the fruitful smiling face bloomed, and the red carpet covered the hill.
In October, the fading time, the cry of another dynasty, the swaying of the autumn leaves hanging on the high place, on the other side of the water and sky, the wooden pulp of the flat boat broke through the blue waves of the river. The melody of the seasons adorns the blue atrium, the sound of geese blows a burst of thin, haggard leaves, a sneeze, a cold day, drunk a season of chrysanthemum.
See you in September. Scoop a bowl, October night moon white boiled poems and far away, two poems, moving at this moment acacia disease, looking back at the time of how many branches in September, may October, let the next cycle of life bloom.
