Your Childhood Sweetheart and My Sweetheart

A poem about a galloping wild horse Pick up a rapeseed flower The golden look It looks very much like A galloping wild horse Weaving and plowing cattle In the cradle of dreams Swaying the notes filled by the river We are the children of the earth Fleeing in the dusk The shiny fields Clear puddles We are the children of the earth The loess in the hands Holding the most beautiful groom and the bride

Introduction to the poem "The youth in my fantasy is to grow old together with you. Deep in the white clouds where no one comes or goes, I will burn incense and make tea with you, play chess, calligraphy and painting. Beidi poems today, Southern barbarian songs tomorrow. You sharpen your knife and cut firewood in front of the bamboo house, and I light a fire to cook in the bamboo house. I look up at you in my coarse linen clothes. From now on, the mountains, rivers, lakes and seas will be with you."

Is life like a poem when we first meet? I weave the straw basket gently You pick tadpoles in the water of the river I watch you having fun under the locust tree You are in the wheat field Bare your fangs at me I watched you go up the mountain and lie down in the haystack It turned out that you were hiding quietly here I quietly let you go I turned around and my eyebrows took off on the high cliff.

I picked up a small poem about a rapeseed flower Little me Traveling in the wilderness Waiting for you a grand fireworks Little you and me Playing in the clear spring I still don't know what fate will be like This bump The yellow flowers falling on the wild mountain The legend of the breeze that night The lonely moon and me in the bright sky The collision of ice and fire The weak morning light that day The sound of the tinkling spring is you and me

Poems about the notes of water jars in the big river Children in the wild All wild horses that have escaped the reins Little feet running wild They all flowed through muddy puddles Children in the mountains They are all bubbling soda Little hands that can't control themselves They all go to pick out birds and catch fish

Waiting for a sky full of falling leaves, a poem Waiting for a lifetime of flowers to bloom Waiting for someone to return Waiting for a sky full of falling leaves flying across the lake and the sea Waiting until the green hair turns white Waiting until the appearance is gone Waiting until the mountains, rivers, and vegetation turn into snow-white I am always in the wind Waiting for your return I am always in the wind Waiting for your eyebrows to take off All right and wrong wither with the falling flowers Myself in the distance Drying all my life Tears The pines and cypresses in the clouds The beauty is dying all the way Even if things go against expectations The last heartbreak Waiting for everything to happen again Waiting for the sound of nature All that should not be all on me Thousands of surges The streamers full of stars in the river There has never been a future for you or me Waiting for the wind to come I don't want to return to the sea Not even a sale has ever come At the end of waiting for the wind Who will repay

A poem that withers along with the falling flowers Telling about a touch of purple flowers People who are deeply in love are waiting for a firework You are graceful in purple clothes I just ask if life is like the first time we met Draw a picture Window Bamboo Slips No matter whether heaven and earth are happy together Don't hide your love for a lifetime But you are afraid that you will never know each other The dusty memory I can't say a word to wait for you to return But Zihua lives in my heart Looking at the direction of the swallows flying from no one's place Qing has already looked like the future Calm but pretending to be strong Watching the last scene with you Ten Miles of Red Makeup under the Fireworks You are the young man in red clothes who walked out of the painting I am still wandering outside the painting forever I can't express the purple flowers in the end People who are deeply in love are also everywhere.

I always write poems in the wind Big rivers, big trees, big mountains In the ancient endless river There is a group of tadpoles every year in the summer Between a group of barefooted children Chasing The little you, the little me, the passing years like water The softness of the wind like the blue sky and soft clouds In front of the ancient big tree that does not fall There is a group of yellow flowers that are covered by one every year in the summer A group of barefoot young men picking Little you, little me, the passing years Like the scattered rain in the blue sky The ancient green mountain There will always be food on the ground and trees. Every year Praised by a group of sons and daughters with wet feet Little you, little me, the Chinese years that can never be returned The full moon is like the full moon The mountains - Or your green clothes are graceful