时间：2019年09月12日 Source: jajshop.com Time: September 12, 2019
"The Dawn is a Poem" 800 words after reading:
Night is a black bird's nest, and I quietly perched in its arms waiting for dawn. I don't want to sing, I don't want to bloom, but just plucking the strings of life gently, and waiting with a sigh of sigh.
The night is a bit long. I reached out and groped in the dark, and couldn't touch the horizon. I stumbled, struggling to light a torch, but afraid of destroying the bird's nest. Dawn, come early. The scenery at night is too dark, I yearn for light. When you come, life is a poem. I will hear the golden rooster breaking dawn, and chanting a neat first couplet. I will see the sun flatten the ground, the roof, and the treetops. I will be pleasantly surprised to find that the flowers are shaking with a smile, and gradually they will confuse people's eyes. Bai Juyi's horseshoes are dazed, and the green grass is shallow.
The long night of drizzle and rain passed, Li Qing fainted in drunkenness, watched the westerly wind, and wanted to be green, fat, and thin. That tree Begonia fragrant the entire Song Dynasty. Wang Changling's "Early Day" poem says: "Yunfa cannot be combed, and Yang Hua is more full." Dawn will make Spring in the air.
"Be drunk before flower tonight until dawn." This is the intoxicating sentence in Ge Shengzhong's "Long Tao Sha". In the night, let me see the blossoms of the lotus flower. The white flowers are the eyes of the night, bright and splendid, even if there is only a flash of light, but it is the trembling soul of its own eclipse. It is its challenge to darkness, it is its vow to Dawn Love. I would like to be drunk in front of the lotus flower until dawn. At dawn, the lotus flower has already fallen, and the fragrance disappears. When it swells from the flowering branch, it is definitely not attachment. It seeks a beam of light and will eventually become a beam of light.
Is dawn here? From the east to the west, the panes turned from gray to bright in order. Dawn is a poem. The rose rose up the wall and told me that life can only be beautiful if it blooms; the sound of the waves, the waves gush, and the tides rise and fall at night, telling me to grow old gracefully if I have not been seriously young.
I walked on the path and suddenly saw a white bench with an arched shed made of red rose flowers, one, one, one, like a red rose, lighting the dawn. In the sound of Hai Tao, I sat gracefully on a bench and asked the sun to take a picture of me, recording the beautiful moment when I broke the nest.
Dawn is really a poem. Since then I no longer sigh in the bird's nest in the dark, I want to be a branch reader, and sing dawn. Author: Dan Sumin
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