Kneel and beg the master to compose a poem with the theme of the flower season

Bloom in the flowering season.

It's still that silent sky.

Walking alone on the path where the yellow leaves fall.

With the morning breeze, stepping on the moonlight.

Go in search of late autumn florals.

The withered buds.

I was trampled into the dirt again and again.

Missed its once beautiful flowering season.

Only remorse and sorrow remained.

The fragrance of flowers fades away with the wind.

But there was desolation in the dirt.

Maybe flowers have their dreams, too.

As long as it can bloom in the middle of the flowering season.

and they will no longer regret or grieve.

Essay Guilt about flowers Flower raisers are numerous. Every family seems to have as few as one or two pots of flowers, or seven or eight pots of flowers, either rubber trees, spring taro, spider plants, or moon flowers; Either in the living room, on the balcony, or in the corner of the bedroom. When the guests came, they had to compare and look like they loved the flowers.

But I found that in their eyes, flowers are just decorations. Ornaments such as floor lamps in the living room. Although they watered, loosened the soil, and fertilized it, it was no different from taking a rag to wipe the dust off the furniture, because in their hearts, the flowers, together with the furniture, only decorated the home, and did not get spiritual pleasure and enjoyment from the specific details of raising a pot of flowers.

In the face of a pot of flowers, they put it here or there in their hearts, thinking about whether it will make the family rich or elegant. They only value the decorative nature of flowers, but ignore the vitality of flowers. This kind of neglect makes the flowers kept at home like birds imprisoned in a birdcage, such as the "second wife" wrapped up by the big money now, and loses themselves!

Such a flower farmer is not worthy of being called a flower raiser! Flowers, with a deeper essence. Let's start with a story about flowers.

Once, when I went to the country, there was a small garden in my master's house, made of adobe, which was very simple, but the flowers in it were very blooming, and there were many samples. At that time, I felt that a blooming moon flower was very beautiful, so I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I didn't mean to pick it, but I didn't expect the hostess to stop me without considering that I was a guest, "Don't touch it, it will hurt." Her casual words touched me deeply.

I didn't understand some of the things about flowers for a long time, but I seem to understand them all at once. Later, I understood with this sentence that a flower also has its feelings, temperament, personality and emotions. It is even said that it is exactly the same as us, with its own privacy.

Why do we dare not stretch out our hands when we are faced with a beautiful strange woman, but we have such thoughts and desires when we are faced with a flower? I think it's just a plant, an ornament to decorate our room. This is our shallowness.

When we raise flowers, we actually respect and cherish life, just as we raise our own children. Therefore, a person who truly loves flowers will not give flowers that he cares for to others easily—what is the difference between giving his children to others? To love a flower is to love life; Isn't loving life loving ourselves?

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

In a dry season.

I got to know you.

You smile softly.

It used to make me feel like a promise.

I don't want to know what love is.

I don't know how to love you.

Just see you.

My heart is filled with sweetness.

It's love, it's love. Or friendship.

I can't write it.

Can't read you either.

I don't know how much I love you.

When I miss you.

I will cry secretly.

I don't know why I can't let you go.

I just hope that the sky will send a storm early.

Wash away my obsession.

Thoughts are like shackles.

Sometimes revel in the diary.

Sometimes revel in dreams.

I do, I do.

Even if you go to the eighteenth layer of hell.

I don't want to forget you either.

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

Love is always nurtured in buds.

Love you sometimes impulsively.

Sometimes you lose yourself.

I just want to keep that last bit of it.

Even if you're not happy.

Even if you say I'm sorry.

Red-green. and blue ignites the vitality of spring.

But I will never see you again.

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

Be your confidant for the rest of your life.

You don't know how much I love you.

Even if you abandon everything, you don't hesitate to do so.

You are in my heart.

It's branded and never forgotten.

I love you so much.

Hurt you and take care of you.

But how can I be willing to hurt you?

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

Face yourself with a smile.

Smile and face you.

You are the tenderness in the palm of my hand.

You are something I can't leave behind.

Memories that can't be let go.

There is only one word for love.

Love should know how to give up.

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

Let happiness always accompany you.

I'll be looking at you.

Sweet in my heart.

And you watch the sunrise.

Look at the clouds and build two huts.

The ends of the earth and the capes.

You're in this lovesickness.

I'm waiting for you over there.

Let the flowers bloom in the most beautiful flowering season.

Your happiness is yours!

I can only wish you from the bottom of my heart.

Find someone who loves you more than I do.

As long as you're happy.

I won't cry alone!

The peach is dying, scorching its glory.

The Book of Poetry, Zhou Nan, Taoyao.

The peach and plum blossoms in the east of Luoyang City, flying around and falling to whom's house.

Tang Song Zhi's question "Thoughtful" is full of letters.

Nanmo Qinglou is twelve, and the spring breeze is peach and plum.

Don He Zhizhang "Counting the Peach and Plum Blossoms of the Sun Wang's People".

In the rain, the grass is green, and the peach blossoms on the water are red.

Tang Wang Wei "Farewell to Rim Chuan".

The peach blossoms are full of rain, and the willow green is more with the smoke of Tang Wang Wei.

Idyllic. The peach blossoms bloom in clusters, and the lovely crimson reflects the light red.

Tang Du Fu's "Seven Slippery Quatrains on the Riverside".

The wild peach smiles, the bamboo fence is short, and the willow shakes the sand and the water is clear.

Song Su Shi "In the New City Road".