Beg. Love poems like this, kneel and beg for a love poem written by yourself .

There's some sound left, there's some peel left.

How many years. I dreamed that writing poetry was like talking.

Say it and that's it.

How many years, I also said.

A lot is said, but it's not like that.

I asked myself:

Why is that? Why poetry.

It can't always be straightforward.

It can't be like the feathers on a bird's body.

Like mulberry leaves on a mulberry tree.

During a language class.

It's too young.

Therefore, he is also very bold.

Bite the text and chew the words, that hungry look.

Swallow the dates, even the kernels.

I didn't know until now.

Language has long been like a sharp knife.

Cut my heart apart.

I can't sew it anymore.

The cow died by the knife.

You can no longer use your tongue.

Get close to the fresh grass.

Sometimes fear of sleep.

It's because the language becomes messy after falling asleep.

Difficult to control and command.

Some verbs will be at inappropriate times.

Insert it into the wrong place.

Just like Apple doesn't always.

Hang on an apple tree.

Dan sometimes craves sleep.

Longing for that anachronistic verb.

Enter the territory of longing and twilight.

At that time, the whole world was at a loss.

All the mirrors are in tatters.

Nor are the words all out of the mouth.

I'm the proudest of all.

It's from the toes.

Send out the whispers of lovers.

I'm going to talk about fish again.

This is something that haunts my life.

It swims every time.

It all makes me tremble.

It cooed.

I can't wait to dream about these sounds.

I'm always going to get me wrong.

Thought it was close to the source.

There is no need to open your mouth anymore, you don't need to open your mouth anymore.

There are some voices left.

What do we do with the remaining peels?

When I was younger.

Just like to take apart the kanji, in those.

There are no meaningless strokes to explore some secrets.

I am not Han Chinese, but I am far from my own people.

I couldn't understand my native language, the songs.

I had to be a permanent guest in Chinese.

What else can I do?

Or always listen to those maple leaves that swirl in your heart.

Additional: The above is a more euphemistic poem, it is difficult to see the element of love, it is more profound, and it makes people reverie.

Turn all the women of the world into you.

How can I do it.

Turn all the women of the world into you.

That's nice. That's really bad.

If there is no such thing as you in this world.

So. Shrink your shadow to a fraction of a centimeter.

Transplant in the bottom of my heart.

Well, me. I sighed three thousand six hundred and fifty days late.

Suddenly transformed into a beautiful bagpipe.

Tell me secretly.

Love. It should be replaced by another word. You.

You'll love me one day.

Robert. Browning.

You'll love me one day.

I can wait for your love to grow slowly.

Big. The handful of flowers in your hand is not also the seed of April, June.

Is it open? I now plant a heart full of seeds, at least one or two of which take root and sprout, and the flowers that bloom are the ones you don't want to pick

Not love, maybe a little like.

bar. A violet blooming in front of my grave--

The relic of love - you will always look at him.

Eye; Do you have that look? It's worth my suffering.

Annoyed. What is death? You always have the one who loves me. Sky.

Broken Chapter] You stand on the bridge and look at the scenery, and the people watching the scenery look at you from upstairs.

The bright moon decorates your windows, and you decorate other people's dreams.

I love you ] who burst into tears, trusted.

These three words were written on the beach.

Who has tender hopes?

A colorful inscription with shells embedded in a row.

It must be a girl in the end.

Put down a bouquet of daisies and tie a red handkerchief.

So, the people who walked through here.

are dyed with nameless lovesickness.

1976 year.

Three Questions] Austria Ehrlich Fritt

Translated by Ma Wentao.

If it is said. Love will not go on any longer.

Then it. Will it really be terminated?

If it is said. It will terminate.

Then he was at the beginning.

Is it really love?

But if. It did not terminate.

Well it really.

Can't go on any longer?

"My Love" poem Sun Dajun.

A woman, a woman who is not loved, a romantic woman, a woman with a strange temper, a woman who does not follow the usual path, she has her ideas, she insists on her practices, she is not social, she has her way of life, she does not go to work, she can support herself, she is a semi-stupid woman, a stupid woman also has someone to spend her money, she wants to be single for a long time, live a free life, she wants a husband, wants a child, it is just her heart, just in comparison with others, she is afraid of her husband and children, she is afraid of getting married, She's afraid of hardship, yes, she shouldn't get married, she has what she deserves, she still has online dating, what kind of online romance is it, a beautiful spiritual partner, can I be a partner with you?

She can still be leisurely, she can still be clingy, she still wants men to love her more, she has her waves, what a good time, I spend time on it from time to time, in order to have a little meaning, in order to be closer to everyone, my love, you are so low-level.

Butterflies love flowers. The spring rain is blue and the sky is clear all night, the smoke locks the eyebrows, and the wind is gloomy and lonely. The single clothes are still cold, and the only one talks to Qing in his life.

Wake up from a deep dream, look at your eyebrows, and smile without makeup. In the clouds and the sea are wide and longing, thousands of wisps of lovesickness are like bone pain.

Far and near you, look at me for a while, look at the clouds for a while.

I feel that when you look at me, you are far away, and when you look at the clouds, you are close.

The farthest distance in the world Rabindranath Tagore.

The farthest distance in the world is not the distance between life and death, but I stand in front of you, and you don't know that I love you;

The farthest distance in the world is not that I am standing in front of you, and you don't know that I love you, but that you are obsessed with love but can't say I love you;

The farthest distance in the world is not that I can't say that I love you, but I want you to be painful, but I can only bury it deep in my heart.

If I'm boiling water.

You are tea. Then your fragrance.

You have to be patient with my tastelessness.

Let your dry and soft.

In me, Shusan.

Let my invasion stretch your countenance.

I have to be hot, even boiling.

Only then can they be reconciled with each other.

We have to hide.

Look at each other in the water.

A cup of tea.

We just decided on one color.

No matter how you are up and down, you are uncertain.

You will always be slowly.