Ah, the wheat bird crosses the wheat field at dawn

Grandparents are old and yellow.

Happiness is also a day with tears.

Wei is carrying a crock under the pomegranate tree.

Divide the remaining mung bean soup into ridges.

Fold to the lover behind the light.

Wheat birds pass through the wheat fields at dawn.

There are no slackers in May, July and June.

Shuisheyaonv now lives in Xianyang.

The man who looks at his hometown on the ridge of wheat has bent over.

Heavy ears of wheat are often called rivers.

Folk who cut mugwort leaves and zongzi leaves

Grind the sickle off the beam like the moon on the Dragon Boat Festival.

Wei's "The Ballad of Cutting Wheat" is still in the wheat field.

There is blood running between the throats.

You haven't harvested wheat fields for forty years.

Even at the age of seventy, I am still a farmer.

You are thirty for your mother and seventy for your father.

Why do you ask me to grow wheat?

A lonely wheat field at night

The poet has wheat color in his chromosome.

All his sorrows are like lonely wheat fields at night.

Wei lives in a city where people are grain merchants.

American futures, Russian wheat

They constitute the territory occupied by me and my land.

The earth is crying.

On the one hand, the country's endless worries.

But Wei said you should leave the country early.

Just like Hardy's novel The Return of the Native.

The heroine is determined to leave the heather wilderness.

I am the soul.

A poet who hates urban intrigue.

Forty years together in the wheat field

Abandon everything.

Only the original intention of guarding the wheat field has not changed.

In the land where birds watch.

I'm the only one who kept them alive.

In the hair,

A country poet on his shoulders and palms.

I am not alone in the eyes of birds.