Stairs
Text: Hawkeye. The melancholy footsteps after a deep dream.
Step on your dawn and go.
Outside the house, there is green spring.
The birds on the branches shouted and shouted.
You lie still and come and go, and you can bend and stretch.
Night and early morning. Warmth paves my prudence.
From the top down, start towards the ideal.
Returning with the stars and the moon.
Tired. The sunset threw itself into the arms of the West Mountain early.
Who waited for me. Look at it with all your care.
Step into your twists and turns.
From the bottom up. I reaped the sweat and watered the ideals of the day.
Fall asleep.
Inn
Text: Hawkeye. There was some moonlight hidden in the inn.
and wine. Travelers coming in and out.
It's shaking anyway.
The red wine is a little yellow tonight.
Brother up the stairs, holding the wall with one hand.
Ragged youth.
The beard was not shaved either.
The lights are bright. Hit a bunch of people in the pitted faces.
The girl with the glasses.
Lean and sit down.
I have wine, do you have a story?”
One cup, dry.
Ice cubes melt in the heart.
This girl....The more you smell it, the better it smells.
She must have broken the embankment, kind.
Scythe
Text: Hawkeye. Scythe
You always have a toothy smile.
You've told many stories, like:
Take home the weeds of the mountains".
And also. Straw hats for the autumn harvest".
Rusty you. Lonely in the corner.
I'm going to tell your story.
The harvest of an era.
After all, it ended. Disuse.
Never mind. At least the beard of his father's generation.
Grow old with you. 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.