Kneel and beg for a poem to compose, and ask for a poem to write yourself

Well, who nursed me?

It is a gentle and beautiful mother.

It's a handsome and serious dad.

Mom taught me with tender love.

Dad taught me with serious love.

Mom is a hardworking gardener.

Take good care of me.

Dad is a strict soldier.

Educate me without being discouraged.

Parents are like paper airplanes.

Take us where we want to go.

Parents are like an umbrella.

Shelter us from the wind and rain.

Oh how you love me.

Let me enjoy it inexhaustibly.

Dear Father and Mother.

Yes! Who nursed me?

It is the kind, beautiful mother;

It's the serious, handsome father.

My mother used that pure love to educate me and encourage me;

My father educated me and told me with that serious love.

These two relatives have nurtured me with the most sincere love:

Mother took care of us like a gardener, giving us fertilizer from time to time to make us grow happily.

My father taught us seriously like a soldier, and educated us with his serious, undeflated spirit.

Parents are like a paper airplane that takes us where we want to go.

Parents are like an umbrella that shelters us from the wind and rain when it rains.

Yes! How I love you.

You have sheltered me from the wind and rain, and you have served me, and I have not been able to enjoy it, dear father and mother!

Hopefully, maybe, maybe.

Reality, so so.

Just want to move forward. Didn't look back.

Footprint. Life is not deliberate.

Change is just inadvertent.

The future, tomorrow's tomorrow.

Reminiscence, yesterday's yesterday.

It seems bland. I just want to play my own.

Wonderful. If my randomness hurts you.

That's accidental.

My own original.

I don't know if I wrote it myself? You might as well take a look, hehe.

The mountain road was, and it is the mountain road under my feet now.

Once upon a time, the mountain road was just wild moonlight, and no one passed here with torches.

If the mountain road were the footprints of the rising and setting sun, I could see two or three broken paper cigarette rolls buried in the soil, a stubble cough, and the sporadic sound of struck matches with a hoe and smoke.

Listen to the mothers chatting by the fire at night.

My hands were burned by fire.

It's like they're talking about it again.

own young.

By whom the angel is branded.

I should raise such a son.

Let him fly around the house and hit a wall everywhere.

Too close to the clouds learned to cry.

Homesickness The road home is never too far.

I smoke and he is in the smoke.

Pretend to fall Warm snowflakes are flying all over the sky.

Occasionally make a little trouble other people's little white rabbits.

He slept soundly under his bed all afternoon.

I was very dissatisfied with him, but I couldn't do anything about him.

Not once did I succeed.

Throwing a tantrum at his mother.

His arrows are always at the right time.

Neighbors always complain like this.

I should raise such a son.

A little son, a son who doesn't grow up.

I have to say hello to people, and I never get tired of it.

Angel's Daddy: What a name.

A sloppy man with an unshaven beard.

Just wanted to see the train.

Just wanted to see the train.

Preferably vans.

Fill with wood It is best to start from the forest.

Back to the forest.

Abandoned railroad tracks.

The sleepers are going back to the forest.

Re-rooted.

I witnessed the whole process by accident.

When your hair is long enough.

When your hair is long enough.

You can look in the mirror over and over again.

Comb until smooth.

Supplied until it can no longer fall.

The dust and wind of time.

Gently pinch the ancient comb.

Supple those days that await suppleness.

Supple those who go away.

The day when someone does not return.

Stormy days.

Those that slipped quietly.

How do you treasure your hair?

Tell yourself about the past.

How to understate like.

Calm bystanders without emotion.

The narrative does not have any details.

You have to look in the mirror over and over again.

Comb your hair unintentionally.

The hair gently covered the eyes.

Elopement should find someone to elope.

Before getting to the place.

No eating, no drinking, no sleeping.

We ran hand in hand.

Day and night, winter and summer.

At some dawn without warning.

From afar, you can see the last nameless town.

Children of all ages grew all over the ground.

Wave happily to the sun.

We grew old in this instant.

Juvenile. A dandelion walks past the window covered with thorns and vines.

Suddenly I caught a glimpse of the young man's face in the window.

Childish maturity and condensation.

A manuscript full of text.

inadvertently opened her long-closed heart.

Ah, boy. Are you anxious for an unknown future?

If you leave. Can you miss it?

It stopped at your window.

Listen to your little dandelions.

Gusts of wind blew by. She vanished without a trace.

Like a broken memory.

Silently. I can only hear my hometown.

That familiar melody.

and the sound of rain beating thorns.

Long

When I was in high school, I was honored to write the same thing.

Lyre. Deep voice.

Sing melancholy songs.

I use the same husky.

Come and. Rough fingers.

The color of the strings cannot be touched.

Only lonely tears.

In every moment of the millennium.

Rolled. I can only be silent.

Even if the strings are broken.

I'm not sorry either.

Me in the dark.

Forever. No one can get the right notes.

From me. Glide through.

There is a kind of winter.

Let people stop the idea of playing the season.

The beggar collected a year's kindness.

Pedestrians are walking like flies.

It was as if the dream was suddenly very close.

There is a kind of winter.

It is a symbol of the arrival of spring.

It's so unknown.

People who know how to warm themselves.

so as not to be forgotten.

Dark Tears The night gave me black eyes.

White world.

And what I saw was boundless darkness.

Lost the sun that led the way.

I could only struggle in the dark.

Looking for answers that don't matter.

The swamp swallowed my mind.

Silent cries drifted through the night sky.

Appears pale and weak.

There's nothing I can do.

I can only let myself sink little by little.

In the darkness of the frenzy.

The sound of tears freezing was heard.

Sadness and death Hearts drift in the night sky.

Confused. Close your sore eyes at night.

Tears are like shooting stars. I searched in the endless darkness.

Run at the speed of light. It turned out to be lost at the end of the galaxy.

Silent death. Not a single star will understand.

Where is my heart?

Stand on the edge of the Milky Way.

Quietly gaze at the sad light of the North Star.

Feel the desolation of the heart of the North Pole.

Far away on Earth.

Antarctic glaciers are melting.

Turned into sad rain.

In the emptiness of my heart.

One at a time. Burst for a while.

Drifting endlessly.

Little by little. Drop by drop.

Stroking the wounds of the past.

A once painful oath.

Paragraph by paragraph. Sentence by sentence.

Gradually washed away by tears in the rain.

I have an original song I don't know if you like it!

Thinking without words, the moon in the water, and the stars in the cold moon are lovesick tears; Drop by drop, speechless.

Truthful, incomprehensible, how can I say thousands of words in the bitter pile; Every sentence turned to ashes.

"The Whisper of Love".

A soft moonlight.

Linger on the window.

Tie up the flying leaves.

Tranquility for clear eyes.

I try to make walking pens.

Don't take your mind away.

Because the dream is in full swing.

I can't bear to be alarmed.

From afar, yes, it should be from afar.

You gave me a surprise.

The garments were made in the words of the elves.

Like rain, there is no rain in this winter, but it falls in my heart.

Warm, spring-like.

Like a flower, my room is empty.

In my heart, it is overflowing with fragrance.

As life, the revival of all things is hidden in winter.

It's just that where is the petal of this stamen?

Facing the screen, my language was blocked.

Eruption treats each keyboard as a button for a volcano.

Flowing sparks, spreading, in winter.

For the splendor of heaven and earth, for you and me.

[After the rain in the provincial capital, the sky is sunny and the clouds are steaming].

[After the rain in the provincial capital, the sky is sunny and the clouds are steaming].

The cool breeze swept away the heat and the children in the courtyard had fun.

Uncle flute on the balcony, shaking his nerves.

Raising the whip to urge Ma Changfeng Nian, youth finally listened. [Original].

Cinnamon. Bundinason.

It's the burst of eggplant or a faint fragrance.

Looking. Marvel.

I don't know if it's the fragrance of green leaves.

It's still golden in the green.

Remember. Childhood.

Mother in hand. That sparkling osmanthus cake.

A faint fragrance.

I don't know if it's the smell of the sweets.

It's still the love in the hands of my mother.

Breeze. Blow through.

The trembling branches are missing chains.

A faint fragrance wafts out.

It is the fragrance of autumn.

It is the release of love. Oh cinnamon. Cinnamon.

I love Astronomy.

Aiko is average.

Ganzhou tastes to report to the government.

The state house leans on the cloud roots.

I am a victorious friend.

Love things and people.

The orange cold taste is not long.

Hometown sea tree spring.

I love wonders.

Love sunset South Mountain.

Three hundred miles of Ganshi.

The people of the state make a good talk.

I'm always happy.

Love lives forever.

Orange and flavorful.

The village book can recommend the virtuous.

I'm a good brother.

Cherish your money.

Ganshui is always young.

The people of the state also liked it.

My family is white clouds.

Love Jun is rich in talent.

Orange and yellow are in full bloom.

Township school Fuhua ceremony.

The year of peace in our country.

Love to play with the spring breeze.

Ganchuan is particularly calm.

The state population has increased spectacularly.

My family order brother.

Cherish the white jade plate.

Orange and yellow can be drunk.

The villagers have passed it on to their hearts.

One person wants to leave, don't force it to stay, and if you force it to stay, it will cause resentment and worry.

One by one, sorrow is moderate, and it is necessary to look away, and to see the reunion and parting.

117 words of the top poem "Mo Qiangliu Look Open".

One by one, the third brother of Aishan AA Liu Jiujiu.