I need a few short essays or poems in dire need

I never want to throw away a piece of paper, I always keep it. Leave it behind, fold it into a very small boat, and throw it out of the boat and into the sea.

Some were swept into the windows of the boat by the wind, and some were wet by the waves and stuck on the bow of the boat.

I still don't lose heart, and I always hope that one can flow to the place I want him to go.

Mother, if you see a very small white boat in your dream, don't be surprised that he fell asleep for no reason.

This is your beloved daughter's tears, thousands of rivers and mountains, begging him to return with her love and sorrow!

Xu Zhimo or Dai Wangshu is good, and it can be soundtracked.

The day is short, too short to embrace the morning, and it has shaken hands at dusk;

A year is very short, so short that there is no fine taste of red sinus green, so you have to put some vegetarian autumn frost.

Life is short, muffled.

It's too short to enjoy your youth, and you're already in the twilight.

It always passes too fast, it is too late to comprehend, and we must learn to cherish it.

Cherish the family, friendship, fellowship, classmates, and friendship of people on the road to life, once they pass by, they may never meet.

Rain Lane Dai Wangshu.

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, alone.

It's long, long.

And lonely rain alley, I hope to meet.

A clove-like.

A girl with a grudge.

She has the color of cloves, the fragrance of lilacs, the sorrow of lilacs, and she complains in the rain, complains and hesitates;

She wandered in this lonely rainy alley, holding an oil-paper umbrella like me, silently like mechù) is cold, desolate, and melancholy.

She silently approached, approached, and threw again.

Tai Xi general vision.

She floated like a dream, like a dream.

It's like floating in a dream.

A lilac, this girl floated beside me;

She silently walked away, far away, to the fence wall of decadence (pǐ), and walked through this rainy alley.

In the lamentation of the rain, her color was dissipated, her fragrance was scattered, and even hers was dissipated.

The eyes of the breath.

Lilac-like melancholy.

Holding an oil-paper umbrella, alone.

It's long, long.

Another lonely rainy alley, I hope to float through.

A clove-like.

A girl with a grudge.

Paper boats.

Rabindranath Tagore: Every day, I put paper boats one by one in the rapids of the stream.

I wrote my name and the name of the village where I lived in big black letters on a paper boat.

I hope that people who live in other places will get this paper boat and know who I am.

I carried the long showflowers in the garden on my boat, hoping that the dawn flowers would be brought to shore peacefully at night.

I threw my paper boat into the water, looked up at the sky, and saw small clouds with white sails full of wind.

I don't know what of my companions in heaven have lowered these boats to race with my boats!

When night came, my face buried in my arms, and I dreamed that my paper boat was slowly floating in the starlight of the night.

The sleeping fairy sits in a boat with a basket full of dreams.

How to make you meet me.

In my most beautiful moments.

I have been praying for this before the Buddha for 500 years.

Pray to the Buddha for us to break the fate of the dust.

The Buddha then turned me into a tree.

Grow by the side of the road that you must pass.

Flowers bloom discreetly in the sun.

The flowers are the hope of my past life.

When you approach. Please listen carefully.

The trembling leaf is the enthusiasm I am waiting for.

And when you finally ignore the walk.

Falling to the ground behind you.

Friend, that's not petals.

That's my withered heart.

Xi Murong.

Actually, I care about you a lot.

Pick up a faint pen and write I don't blame you、

Infatuated with the evening breeze sweeping over your gentle posture The remaining wisps of charm, your resolute quietness stirred my heart.

Through my breathless breath, faintly you are gone.

Lost communication Will you ever come back.

It's been a year ......The desolation of December has been frozen.

When you're lost, you're always the first thing that comes to mind...I want to hear your beautiful comfort, your words can always give me strength, I want to hold your hand and walk quietly in the sunset ......Listen to the sound of falling leaves.

You're gone....Leaving me alone, the country roads that originally belonged to two people became the desolation of my solitary stroll.

Gazing at the leaves all over the ground, there was silence all around, even the autumn wind was silent......The cry is just the helplessness in my heart, why is 'missing you' so ......painful

Just waiting for you Missing has become a poem in November.

Wrote a lot....I thought about it for a long time....Just to express that I care about you and miss you.........

1.Life and death.

English) Lando. I don't fight with anyone, because there is no one worth fighting for.

I love nature, and secondly I love art.

I am in front of the fire of life.

Warm my hands;

Once the fire of life dies, I would like to die quietly. 2."Moon".

The lonely night, the painted stars, only me, the moon, alone in the starry sky. 3."Autumn".

The lake is covered with red leaves, like a flat boat.

Above sits autumn. 4.[When the West Wind Walks] - Zheng Chouyu only wanted to walk like this, the West Wind --- only blew out my candles, and walked through the unfinished books in his hand, but the darkness of the room was reversed, and the blue outside the window was printed.

When the falling paulownia floats like the echo of the distant years, just like a leaf lightly hidden between the fingers, the sorrow of the night scene is condensed in the eyes because of the extinguishing of the candle flame at this moment, I remember it so naturally, the young time, that time, Ai Qian's walk is like the west wind. 5.Bridge.

The span of reinforced concrete, thousands of years of distant vision stacked into an eternal complex.

A kind of resistance to hope, put the Wujiang River into a long ribbon, and the image of the Wujiang River with a strip of water is more beautiful and moving6Choice.

If I come to the world.

Just to be with you once.

Just for that moment in billions of light years.

In a flash, all the sweetness and sadness there.

Then let everything happen.

It's all in an instant.

I bow down and thank all the planets for their help.

Let me meet you.

Farewell to you. Completed a poem made by God.

And then slowly age.

7.Rain. Thinking in the rain, thinking about the taste.

Memories in the rain, tears of sadness.

Sadness in the rain, tears crisscrossed.

Swear in the rain, forever.

The rain stops, the rain hates 8Stars.

All thoughts.

are all pinned on that empty and cold moonlight that has just risen.

How could the young man who had sat and watched a star in that night alone conceive of the frost and sorrow he would experience?

9.Untitled. You say the moon is far, far away from us, but I can always see her face when I want to see it.

You say that the stars are farther and farther away from us, but I can always see the stars shining in the lonely night.

You said we'd meet again soon, but, dear, why weren't you with me when I missed you?

It turns out that when I want to be alone, I just want to smile in the distance, but I look at the sky and cry.

10.Miss.

I tell you, and you say you won't forget.

You told me, and I treasure them all

For us, memories are days that never fall.

Never yellows.

The time of getting together is always short, and the time of anticipation is always very long

By the stream of the years, how many shining lines of poetry have been picked up.

If you want to miss me, look at the twinkling stars in the sky and my --- eyes looking for you.

From the first love of roses to the bitter love of lilacs, it has gone through one cycle after another. Love, stupid, stupid, who can understand. Just for one, how many springs, summers, autumns and winters have you been waiting for, and the lilacs have bloomed and thanked, thanked and bloomed.

It became a dream, a shadow of lovesickness. Since then, I can't control myself, and I'm always lovesick in May, thinking about you infatuatedly. I try to paint the incense of lilacs in your image, and think of you in the beautiful sea of lilac flowers, just as I shake the oars of love in the sea of flowers, chanting your name over and over again, thinking of you so heartbreakingly, just like you fall in my white lovesickness, in the pupils of love, counting your beautiful flowers.