Information about Xiaocao, who wrote Xiaocao

Small grass is grass that hasn't opened up yet!

xiao cao ?I don't know what kind of information it is.

Xiaocao's modern poem isIce HeartWritten.

Original:

Little Grass" Ice Heart.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Lingering and sending people under the fence.

Inadvertently trampled on.

I'm bitter, I'm struggling.

For the meaning of life.

I want to stay strong.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Nature takes care of me.

God sprinkled the rain and dew.

It moistens the roots and tenders the branches and buds.

I try, I hope.

For the fruits of life.

Grief and tears were swallowed together.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

There is no such thing as a tree.

There are no peaches and plums all over the world.

But I firmly believe that no matter how humble the grass.

Through perseverance and hard work.

It will surely bloom a bright flower of life.

About the Author:Bingxin, formerly known as Xie Wanying, is a native of Changle from the Fujian Department, born in Fuzhou to a family of naval officers, and a member of the China Association for the Promotion of Democracy (DPP). Chinese poet, modern writer, translator, children's literature writer, social activist, and essayist, she sings the praises of maternal love, pretends to be filial piety, innocence, and nature, and regards children as "the most sacred people", and is deeply admired by the people.

Other works include: "After the Rain", "Dusk", "Evening", "Dawn", "Stars", "Spring Water" and so on.

Bingxin (October 5, 1900, February 28, 1999), a native of Changle, Fujian, is a member of the China Association for the Promotion of Democracy, a poet, a modern writer, a translator, and a social activist"Old man of the century"。

In August 1919, Bingxin published the first essay "Thoughts on the 21st Hearing" and the first "Two Families" in the "Morning Post". In 1923, he successively published a newsletter essay entitled "Sending Young Readers", which became the foundation work of Chinese children's Lu Xiao literature. In 1946, she was hired as the first foreign female lecturer at the University of Tokyo in Japan.

At 21:12 on February 28, 1999, he passed away in Beijing at the age of 99.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Lingering and retiring under the fence.

Inadvertently trampled on.

I'm in pain, I'm struggling.

For the meaning of life.

I want to stay strong.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Nature takes care of me.

God sprinkled the rain and dew.

It moistens the roots and tenders the branches and buds.

I try, I hope.

For the fruits of life.

Grief and tears were swallowed together.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

There is no such thing as a tree.

There are no peaches and plums all over the world.

But I firmly believe that no matter how humble the grass.

Through perseverance and hard work.

It will surely bloom a bright flower of life.

The poem is beautiful, emotional, and poetic.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Lingering and sending people under the fence.

Inadvertently trampled on.

I'm in pain, I'm struggling.

For the meaning of life.

I'm going to be strong and alive.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

Nature pampers me humbly.

God sprinkled the rain and dew.

It moistens the roots and tenders the branches and buds.

I try, I hope.

For the fruits of life.

Grief and tears were swallowed together.

I'm a little grass under the eaves.

There is no such thing as a tree.

There are no peaches and plums all over the world.

But I firmly believe that no matter how humble the grass.

Through perseverance and hard work.

It will surely bloom a bright flower of life.

The poem is beautiful, emotional, and poetic.

(Modern Poetry) Xiaocao Author's Name: Li JianguoOne. The seed of a small grass.

Quietly. In the land under the big trees.

Await. Wait for spring.

Two. Spring is coming, spring is coming.

It spits out new ones.

Tender green buds. So strong, so sleepy.

But no one paid attention to it.

Three. In the summer.

It. Quietly.

Grows under large trees.

People who come to enjoy the cool under the big trees.

Wanton trampling.

Ignorant kids on it.

Running back and forth, frolicking.

But no one paid attention to it.

Four. Autumn has arrived.

The grass withered and turned yellow.

It. Quietly.

Died under a big tree.

See. The grass is dead.

If it weren't for these little grasses.

It's in my house in the summer.

The head of a naughty little grandson.

I don't know how many times Wang Zao and Dao broke it.

Write beautiful poems, come with a whim, and return with a huff.