Modern poems and poets describing spring and summer 4 poems of each kind .

thomas-pynchon

Spring has arrived. Perhaps there are already flowers of the crown rock astragalus in the countryside. There's sunshine in the city, and there's rain that doesn't actually need that much.

It doesn't matter anymore, does it? I even suspect that the growth of our children has nothing to do with time. The wind of her namesake will come again; to soothe her always dirty face.

Is this a world where people can give birth to their children?

Remember to be transparent.

Bit by bit. Moonless nights I can't see clearly.

Coldly fascinated the eyes.

The street lights are dizzy. It shouldn't be cared about.

You in the distant sky.

Strange and familiar.

Summer lotus leaves.

There is your shadow.

Quietly. Listen.

1. A grove in the city.

Regreen, my grove.

Ants and flying insects in the grove.

These humble lives are coming with spring.

Under the dirt, I heard the sound of earthworms crawling.

Slam your soft head into the dirt closed door.

In the meadow of the grove, I saw a herd of goats.

Swinging his long beard and bleating.

Shaking my youth and soul, a black goat came to me.

Tears of happiness hung on his face.

2. "Pushing the Door of Spring".

I heard a bird calling.

In the city, there are a few primroses.

They did not dare to enter the city.

Only cheers and jumps outside the effect.

They are as simple as peasants in the countryside.

Let me sprout a kind of intimacy.

They're my friends.

It's like a relative I met by chance.

They are looking for unknown bugs.

Make a friendly voice to your peers.

Outside of the effect, I fell in love with the sound of birds.

In the midst of the bird's contence.

I pushed open the door of spring.

Three: "The Taste of Summer".

After the peach blossoms, the heat is better than a strike, June, intercept all my noise and restlessness, along a bay of lotus pond moonlight, return, my most primitive miss, the memory of the lotus leaves began to fragrance.

The breath of the village, fresh and quiet, surrounded by lush trees, a light breeze, and the sound of cicadas retreating, at this moment, how pure the world is!

Pastoral, flowing water, cooking smoke, simple and beautiful.

At sunset, the shepherd boy's piccolo is elegant and long-lasting.

The jointing sound of corn seedlings is so beautiful, and the fragrance of gardenias is romantic.

In July, when the countryside is damp and rainy, with too much simplicity and kindness, and without a long-lasting guilt, I am at peace in a quiet night, and what could be more important than this peace in the depths of my heart?

And low, light, such as love, such as sincerity, not far away, there is maturity and hope!

Four: "Summer of Flowing Fire".

In July, the city was overwhelmed in the heat wave, and it was a corner of the stuffy streets.

A girl in a blue dress, looking for it.

A green shade, and in the suburbs, on the burning field, a sheep herding baby, driving a flock of white clouds, is running to a cool river not far away.

Five: "This Autumn".

This autumn came later than every previous autumn, and of course lived longer.

My thoughts, the wings of this autumn, the sky is a little thin clouds, the maple forest is thick, the rainbow of the last song, is the retention of the sunset, too thick sadness, the moonlight is tranquil, what do we count, time, or the stars above your own head, this autumn is higher than every autumn in the past, of course, also live chic, my fantasy, this autumn's eyes, the ground is a little foggy, the cotton is purple, the last sound of the snort, is the baby's memory, too thin thoughts, the branches are staggered, what have we forgotten, the years, Or the road under your own feet, this autumn is more calm than every autumn in the past, of course, also live a leisurely life, my ending, the destination of this autumn, some memories in my mind, chrysanthemums are yellow, some boats in the river, the sail mast is straight, the music of the last blow, is the winter stumbling, excessive enthusiasm, snow snuggling, what are we busy with, Mercedes, or the pursuit of your own mind.

Who is spring, turning the new first page of the calendar, is the swallow flying in the rain? Is it a cuckoo with wings spread in the clouds? Or, the sound of the old voice?

Who is it that sows the first piece of hope on the dry field, the old ox who works the yellow earth? Is it the white hair on my father's forehead that was soaked in wind and frost? Or maybe it's the wrinkles on my mother's face that are barred by the annual shifts.

I saw that a wisp of rain and wind flew by, and just like that, your pretty cheeks were blown pink by the apricot blossoms, and the peach blossoms smiled red. In this way, you wake up from a dream that has been dormant for a thousand years and begin to step on a new footprint.

Before summer has time to put on a dress for you, the sun will make your heart hot, carrying the entrustment of spring, and you carefully guard the first promise. In the afternoon, the dark clouds swept across the clear sky, and then, with a tear of emotion, washed away the tired dust from the shoulders of the peasants. At this time, the buds that have just withered on the branches have given birth to new life, and in the chirping of crickets, the figure is slowly elongated and ...... elongatedThe people in the fields, wielding the sickles and hoes that have been gnawed by the years, write some distant hopes with the pen of poets.

Autumn sends away the last ray of fiery sunshine in summer, you take the hand of the seed, support all the way, and walk through the length of the two seasons. Just for, the fruits hanging high on the branches in the golden everywhere, and the honest smiles of the farmers on the edge of the fields. I could clearly see that tears of joy were already in their eyes.

Finally, the ears of grain in the paddy field quietly climbed to the top of the head of the once grass seedling, and bent the leaves; He also bends the reaper's back, and bends the slab. You use a look after a harvest to comfort the sweat of the farmers who have been trekking hard for a long time. The swallows flying south were also sent away by you to the treetops after the fallen leaves returned to their roots, and affectionately spit out a trace of white mist, covering their footprints home, leaving only the blue sky, a long and long memory.

Who is winter to bring the final season of 360 days to an end, the snow falling on the top of a high mountain? Is it the cold snap that blew through the roof? Or maybe it's the thick padded jackets of the pedestrians in the village.

Who is it who quietly swept away the colorful prosperity of the past, and is it a worm that secretly sleeps underground? Is it the sun in the twilight? Or, is it a light tree girl who has been busy all her life?

I can no longer see the apricot blossoms flying in the slanting sun, and I can't hear it, and the drizzle of the small building is blowing one after another, moistening the heart of the girl. When you look back, you have fulfilled your last promise, grabbing a handful of unmelted snow, sprinkling it all over the land, and continuing to lead the song of immortality.

In the biting wind, wait, wait for ......

Waiting for the next spring to come.

Stir up dust - spring, summer, autumn and winter.

a) Spring. After the snow melts.

And the frozen ground woke up.

On a moist early morning.

The old cow. With a familiar pear.

Slowly began the spring labor.

After turning over the land.

With the smell of earth.

On the green ridges left.

Farmers stun from the rain on the vernal equinox.

Clear footprints as you walk by.

Hope to be calmly sown in the field.

The wait is long and short.

When it feels like it's far away.

Overnight, the crops were green.

Whose laughter blooms in the fields like peach blossoms in March.

b) Summer. After the sun recedes.

A fiery cloud filled the sky.

Seasons like this are not always peaceful.

There is a rebellious heart hidden in the soul.

It is often met after dusk.

A white figure.

That purity. It is impossible to call out the name calmly.

Spotlessly clean with six uncleaned.

Two parallel worlds how.

can cultivate the same fate.

What is to be withered must always be withered.

Those who should defect will eventually go away.

If you don't calculate the distance by time.

Then whether the end of the world can also be ignored.

Separation at hand.

Burning clouds appeared in the sky.

Seasons like these make it impossible to be quiet.

c) Autumn. The leaves fell.

The fruit hangs from the branches.

Whose efforts condensed into tears.

Hidden on the other side of the mountain.

The story has long been dusty.

I can no longer touch the heart of my youth.

If the end was already doomed.

Why cling to the past and the past.

The fruit contains seeds.

When the snow melts, it can fall to the ground.

Who said autumn. It's so beautiful that only floating zeros remain.

iv) Winter. It snowed that night.

Cover everything up one after another.

Sending you home downstairs.

You say, "Let's build a snowman."

Just wait for me to see the dawn."

I still remember.

Your frozen-red hands smile at the snowman.

Actually, after that night.

I regret not being able to hold your hand.

Place gently on your chest.

It's snowing again.

At this time, the snow was gone for a moment.

It's not like it was back then.

So far piled up in the dusty heart.

After the snow melted in the spring, D woke up.

Spring, like first love, warm and fragrant, is always buried deep in the heart;

Summer is like love, spicy, but sweet, happy and painful;

Autumn, like after marriage, there are differences, contradictions, some are yellow, some are corrupt;

And in winter, it should be a divorce or a breakup, sad, sad, and a little unwilling, so I can only let the snow bury it.

I still miss spring, wait for spring, and look forward to the years that have been.

Winter is coming, will spring be far away?

Life is as brilliant as summer flowers, and death is as quiet and beautiful as autumn leaves.

Modern poems about spring, summer, autumn and winter: songs of the four seasons.

Spring is the bride of winter.

Snow white is her wedding dress.

Grass is her best man.

The new shoots will march to play.

Rose petals flutter all over the sky.

The red carpet was covered with moonlight like a moon.

Xia will be the wedding officiant.

The belated phoenix was a witness to the wedding.

Thousands of flowers and birds come to send spring into the embrace of winter.

The dragon will lead the way. Step into the temple of holiness.

Manju and Sahua sang the Mass.

The solemn fragrance wafts everywhere.

Long hair dancing in spring - although the long hair is not yet up to the waist.

Can. Who notices again.

The lights are shining in the autumn alone.

No tears, no call signs.

It's just to drink wine to wash off your sorrows.

No one knows, anyway.

Spring breeze, river tide, flowers, bright moon and quiet night.

A spring-dreamy question.

Wait for my long hair to reach my waist.

Will you marry me.

Autumn also happily promised.

Wait for your long hair to reach your waist.

I will be a golden house.

Modern poetry about spring, summer, autumn and winter: the song of the four seasons.

The sound of spring. It never skimps on its smile, and its whole body reveals a lilac-like elegance.

It came in the breeze, opened its arms, danced its slender hands, sprinkled the green to the earth, put a hundred flowers on the branches, dyed the cheeks of the peach blossoms red, dyed the face of the pear blossoms white, and dyed the braids of the spring flowers yellow.

Summer Dream. It came dressed in green leaves, with joy and coolness.

Summer is thick, and the breeze caresses and chats.

In the cry of knowing, the evening came quietly.

Outside the village, the puppy guarding the gate fell asleep in the litter, and he often woke up from his dreams and stared at the deep blue night sky, quietly, quietly...

Autumn Rhyme. Perhaps the most beautiful thing in this season is not the falling leaves.

The most, perhaps, is not the fruit.

The most fragrant is perhaps not osmanthus.

The brightest is perhaps not sunlight.

Autumn is high and cool, the sky is high and the clouds are light, and the most beautiful thing is to give others happiness;

The most is to bring refreshment to others;

The most fragrant is its scent;

The brightest is its heart.

The melons and fruits are fragrant, and the forests are dyed.

Who is the best?

It is our pleasing "autumn".

Soul of Winter. It sent a white world, with snow, jade trees and silver flowers, and a quilt on the earth.

Mai Miao hid in the quilt and fell asleep, dreaming of its harvest.

Beautiful and touching girl, you smile, flowers are blooming, and spring is full of joy;

When you look up, the summer trees are green and green;

You look back and smile, the forest is dyed, and the autumn colors are pleasant;

You smile softly, thousands of miles of ice, thousands of miles of snow drifting!

Modern Poetry About Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter: Poetry of the Four Seasons.

The spring flowers are shy and shrouded, and the wind blows the purple glow.

The summer rain opens the breeze, and the lotus fragrance surrounds the flowing water pavilion.

Autumn chrysanthemum spit ink Dan green rolls, refreshing wine intoxicating the field.

The winter flocculent is fluttering and fragrant, and the snow is bright for another year.

I wrote it, let's look at it as a modern poem, haha!

Persuasion Group Poems "Spring".

The east wind blows the green grass, and the willow lead ants smile at the leaves.

When there is no emptiness in the day, you can know the beauty of getting up in the morning.

Summer. The south wind is like fire, and the lilies are blooming towards the sun.

The cicada knows that the time is short, and the sweetness is less than the horse.

Autumn. The west wind stirs the pond and wrinkles, and the yellow leaves swim with the waves.

Persuade the son to recite more, time is not available.

Winter. The north wind calls for the sun, and the sound of books overflows the school.

Don't procrastinate in the morning and dusk, calendar.

is worthy of a good son.

Half a bucket of Yuanchuang.