Wild lilies
She is a wild lily that longs for spring on winter nights.
She is a wild lily, open, brilliant, withered.
Even though the earth turned over hard, she was still one
Wild liliesIn spring, the sun is abundant and the rain is abundant. Wild lilies
Although she can't open it as soon as she wants, she only needs a suitable piece of soil, a piece of chance, and a seed that occasionally passes by, and she will still bloom and fall.
The reason is so simple, so simple that she can't help herself.
She is always swaying the mountains.
On the side of the road, swaying on the cusp of the waves.
Like begging in the wind, she swayed the intoxication in her heart.
This was caught by fate at a glance.
If not *** what is it? ――
If it is said
If it is easy to meet, it is better to say that it is difficult to meet and love!
It's easy to live, but it's hard to live out the wind of the clouds.
Color. The other side is our future.
The mountains and rivers are beautiful, the birds are flying, and the bees and butterflies are busy.
The road is at the foot of the spin.
Constantly shouting, you can only hear this life running in vain.
When winter snow is coming.
The brushes of the seasons are quietly put aside.
In such a deep night.
Let the love go! It's nothing more than a little lightening.
The weight of the bones is nothing more than a gesture of love.
The canopy withered before it could bloom.
of flowers. ――
The dream fell asleep
The dream fell asleepI can't see my fingers.
The shadow that went into the depths.
But me. Lonely ancestors.
The sky shouted above.
I turned a deaf ear.
Only be grateful for the land.
The delicate Lycoon.
It's still burning....
The years accumulate over the years.
Just waiting for the spring thunder on the tip of the bamboo shoots.
There was a loud bang.
No one knows except the soul.
Nature. There is such power.
Now. Lab piping hot beaker.
It is in the sun.
Burning unknown imagery.
I don't know what else the scene is.
Tell the illusion into the dream.
And contemplation, is after waking up in the middle of the night.
A short break.
Confused eyeballs.
It's like a void of light that has nowhere to exert its power.
Floating in the dark.
Float away. We walked in.
Step into the unfathomable.
Comprehend the spider in the emptiness.
Gestures full of masturbation.
When the real jumps out.
I saw a torn parcel of the past.
Pick out the old wardrobe.
The sorrow is somewhat stretched.
Sound. 
Author:Ye Xiaosong, born in 1964, screen name, Prometheus (fire thief), columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society, and a good poet in poetry writing. Some of the poems are included in "Reading Sleep Poems: Spring Blossoms" and "Reading Sleep Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". The language of poetry is unique, the poetry is agile, and he is good at digging out the poetic soil and building the castle of poetry from the silhouette of life. Poetry has its own unique meaning and specialness, and has a certain degree of recognition.
Read the Sleep Poet Shooting.
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.