伴着春风,
Yan who flew south returned home.
Or the nest under the edge of the original house,
It was carefully cleaned.
Wandering a long way,
The sun is reflected in the water,
咱身先come-first-served orange,
The wine is strong in the glass.
cigarettes in the mouth,
Similar to the large-scale production of the past;
Mountain spring for tea,
The fragrance is endless.
Listening to the birds,
哼着小曲,
Hand press the strings,
Beautiful tunes go on and on.
I leaned my body against the wall,
The head sticks out of the window,
The mind and body are intoxicated,
The eyes inadvertently ran into the distance.
The seedlings on the riverbank are wave after wave,
The earth is changing green,
Mixed with aroma,
Urging the seedlings to grow quickly.
Xiaoman is busy in the field.
People in pairs,
Another pair,
Follow the agricultural machinery,
Break through the sealed mud,
Sow the seeds,
There are still birds on the hill,
Look carefully for the insects in the soil.
Near,
Panoramic view!
The heart seems to go back to years ago,
Youth Dot-ri.
At half past three in the morning,
It's not dawn yet,
With the sound of a whistle,
followed the centaur brigade to the field battlefield.
Looking back on the past,
Doing all kinds of fantasies,
Today it's all changed,
Decades of time have become vicissitudes!
and as if by his side,
At a glance,
Thinking is moving forward,
You can't make a momentary pause.
I pulled back,
retracted his head,
will not finish the half of the cigarette,
stuffed into a pipe;
took two puffs,
And he tasted the wine in the cup,
Passionate all over the body,
Suddenly a warm current of happiness.
The spring breeze is still blowing,
The bird's nest is still under the edge of the house,
I heard the chirping,
I don't know what they're talking about!
Maybe we're white-headed?
Lingering age?
Let's hum a little song!
Early in the morning we set out on the path,
Go to the far end of the sky......
On June 2, 2024, Shenyang, a Buddhist Mrs. Yang. My Poems and Paintings