Xu zhimo's poems. Famous Zhang Yi, pen names Nanhu, Yun Zhonghe, etc. Haining, Zhejiang. 19 15 graduated from Hangzhou No.1 Middle School and studied in Shanghai Hujiang University, Tianjin Beiyang University and Peking University successively. 19 18 went to the United States to study banking. 192 1 went to study in the uk and became a special student at Cambridge university in London, studying political economy. During my two years in Cambridge, I was deeply influenced by western education and romantic and aesthetic poets in Europe and America. 192 1 Start writing new poems. 1922 After returning to China, he published a lot of poems in newspapers and periodicals. 1923 participated in the establishment of the new moon meeting. Join the literature research society. 1924 founded Modern Review with Hu Shi and Chen Xiying, and was hired as Professor Peking University. Translated by Tagore, a great Indian poet, when he visited China. 1925 has been to Europe, the Soviet Union, Germany, Italy, France and other countries. From 65438 to 0926, he was the editor-in-chief of the supplement of Morning News Poetry Magazine, and started the metrical movement of new poetry with Wen Yiduo and Zhu Xiang, which influenced the development of new poetry art. In the same year, he moved to Shanghai and served as a professor at Guanghua University, Daxia University and Nanjing Central University. 1927 participated in the establishment of Crescent Bookstore. The following year, he served as editor-in-chief after the publication of New Moon. And traveled abroad to Britain, the United States, Japan and India. 65438-0930 Member of China Cultural Fund Committee, elected member of British Poetry Society. In the winter of the same year, he taught in Peking University and Peking Women's University. 193 1 At the beginning of the year, he founded Poetry Quarterly with Chen and Fang, and was elected as the director of China Branch of Pen Club. In the same year165438+1October, 19, I flew from Nanjing to Peiping. Because the fog hit a mountain near Jinan, the plane crashed and died. He is the author of poetry anthology Zhi Mo Poetry Anthology, Kethleen Night, Tiger, Wandering, prose anthology Leaves, Paris Scales, Autopsy, Autumn, novel and prose anthology Roulette, drama Bian Kungang (co-edited with Lu Xiaoman) and Ai's Diary, etc. His works have been edited and published as Collected Works of Xu Zhimo. Xu Shi's poems are fresh, harmonious in rhythm, novel in metaphor, rich in imagination, beautiful in artistic conception, elegant in thought and full of changes. He pursues neatness and splendor in artistic form and has a distinct artistic personality. He is a representative poet of the Crescent School. His prose is unique and has achieved no less achievements than poetry. Among them, Self-Anatomy, Want to Fly, Cambridge as I Know It and Chatting in Yushan Residence are all masterpieces handed down from generation to generation. -1. The happiness of snowflakes in Zhimo's poems If I were a snowflake, rushing in mid-air, I would definitely recognize my direction-fly, fly, fly-there is my direction on this ground. Don't go to the cold valley, don't go to the lonely foothills, don't go to the lonely streets to be melancholy-fly, fly, fly-you see, I have my direction! Juanjuan dancing in the air, recognized the quiet residence, waiting for her to visit in the garden-fly, fly, fly-ah, she smells of cinnabar plum! At that time, I clung to her skirt with my light body, and I approached her gentle heart-dissolved, dissolved, dissolved-and melted into her gentle heart! Shian played a song for a Japanese girl, which was gentle in bowing her head, like the shyness of hibiscus out of water, talking about treasure, and there was a sweet sadness in that treasure-Nora, Shian! This is a cowardly world. This is a cowardly world: without love, there is no love! Loosen your hair and show your feet; Come with me, my love, abandon this world and die for our love! I hold your hand, love, you follow me; Let thorns pierce our feet, let hail break our heads, you follow me, I will hold your hand, escape from the cage and restore our freedom! Come with me, dear! The world has fallen on our backs-look, isn't this a white sea? White sea, white sea, infinite freedom, I fell in love with you! Following my finger, there was a little blue star that day-an island with grass, flowers, beautiful animals and birds; Get on this canoe and go to the ideal heaven-love, joy and freedom-and bid farewell to this world forever! Go, go, human, go! I stood alone on the top of the high mountain; Go, human, go! I face the infinite sky. Go, young man, go! Herbs are buried in the valley; Go, young man, go! Sorrow was given to the crow at dusk. Go, dream, go! I broke the jade cup of fantasy; Go, dream, go! I smiled and was congratulated by the mountain wind and the waves. Go, all kinds, go! At present, there is a mountain peak in the sky; Go, everything, go! There is infinity at present! In order to find the stars, I rode a blind horse with crooked legs and whipped the night; -Night Whip, I am riding a blind horse and limping! I rushed into the dark night looking for a star; In search of a star, I rushed into this dark wilderness. Tired, tired of the animals under my legs, the stars haven't appeared yet; -The star hasn't appeared yet. He's exhausted, exhausted. This time, there was a crystal light in the sky, an animal lying in the wilderness and a corpse lying in the night. This time, a crystal lamp appeared in the sky! I have love, I have love; I love the stars in the sky; I love their crystal: there is no such strange god in the world. In the cold winter dusk, in the lonely gray morning. At sea, at the top of the mountain after the storm-there will always be a star, 10 thousand stars! The embrace of grass flowers beside the mountain stream, the joy of children upstairs, the lights of travelers, and the southern needle:-a twinkling elf thousands of miles away! I have a broken soul, like a pile of broken crystals, scattered in the grass in the wilderness-full of your instant hospitality. I have tasted the ice and tenderness of life, and I have endured it; Sometimes the cricket's Qiu Ge falls on the steps, stinging my heart and forcing me to cry. I show my frank mind and offer my love to the stars in the sky, no matter whether life is illusory or real-there will always be stars in the sky! Send you a shadow of Leifeng Tower, with dark clouds and white clouds all over the sky. I'll give you a Leifeng Tower, and the bright moon shines on the sleeping heart. It's late at night, the tower is shaded, the moonlight is gone, and there are delicate waves-if you and I swing around on the bare boat, if you and I create a complete dream! Shanghai and Hangzhou are anxious! Come on, come on! A cigarette, a mountain, a few clouds, a piece of water, a bridge, a muffled sound, a piece of pine, a clump of bamboo, a piece of red leaves: colorful fields, colorful autumn scenery, clear as a dream, vague, hidden,-urge! Is it a wheel or time? Urging old Qiu, urging old age! At No.7 Shihu Hutong, our small garden is sometimes full of infinite tenderness: a smiling vine mother, a persimmon palm exposed in rainy days, a hundred-foot locust, leaning over and hugging Tanggu in the breeze, a yellow dog waiting for a sleeping pearl by the fence, and its little friend Xiao Queer's romantic new song full of flattering proposals-our small garden is sometimes full of infinite tenderness. Our small garden sometimes paints a vague dream; Large tracts of rain and the shade of the courtyard are woven into a silent ghost. The little frog sat alone on Canlan's chest, listening to the insects chirping in the yard next door. An inexhaustible rain cloud spread wearily on the top of the old pagoda tree and danced in circles before sweeping the eaves. Is it a bat or a dragonfly? Our small garden sometimes depicts a vague dream. Our small garden sometimes sighs helplessly; However, in the rainstorm, countless bright reds were smashed under the rain hammer, but in the new autumn, the green leaves that have not withered sadly left the tree, and in the middle of the night, the moon came home in a cloud boat, the western wall had passed, and the music in the distant alley was blown by the cold wind-our small garden sometimes groaned helplessly. Our small garden is sometimes immersed in happiness; In the evening after the rain, the courtyard is shaded by trees, the fragrance is overflowing, and the cool breeze is blowing gently. A large number of Weng and giant bottles are in hand, with their feet pointing at the sky, weighing one or two kilograms, and the bottom of the cup is drunk and full of wine. With the laughter, the fairy-like wine Weng floats and sinks-our small garden is sometimes immersed in happiness. Who's to blame for the broken poem? Who do you blame? Is this thunder in the blue sky? Close, lock; Dust on the tiles until tomorrow! Don't look at the smooth white stone steps, wait until tomorrow, alas, grass grows in the crevices of the stones, and all the green ones on the stones are berries! There are fish in the sapphire jar under the porch, which are really phoenix tails, but who else can change water, fish grass and feed the fish? Three or five days ago, be sure to turn your eyes to the white belly drum, don't drift to death, and let the ice draw! The most pitiful thing is Ying Ge with red mouth and green hair. Let the queen teach them well and sing along with the flute. They are really spoiled. If you feed late, you will be scolded. Now, call them! There is only an empty yard waiting for you to answer! ..... 2, one night cold jade, one night cold jade, you really left, tomorrow? Then I, then I, ... you don't have to worry, sooner or later; If you are willing to remember me, remember me, or forget that there is me in this world before it is too late, so as not to think of time and space as just a dream and an illusion; Think of it as the residual red we saw the day before yesterday, shaking in front of the wind, one petal, two petals, falling to the ground, making people step on it and turn it into mud ... alas, making people step on it and turn it into mud-turning it into mud and pouring it clean. This is half-dead suffering. The cold and tedious look makes people drool-oh, my God! Why did you come, why did you come ... I can't forget you. On that day, you came, just like the dark future saw the light. You are my husband, my lover and my benefactor. You taught me what life is and what love is. You woke me up in a coma and cleared me. How do I know the sky is high and the grass is green without you? Touch my heart, how fast it beats; Touch my face again, how focal it is, but I can't see it in the dark; Love, I can't breathe, don't kiss me; I can't stand this kind of work like fire. My soul is like wrought iron on a brick of fire these days. Under the hammer of love, beating, beating, sparks flying ... I feel dizzy. Hold me, love, and let me die in your chest with my eyes closed. How beautiful! The wind rustled in the white tree overhead, which was my funeral song. This breeze, blowing from the olive grove, with the fragrance of pomegranate flowers, took away my soul, as well as fireflies, enthusiastic and dedicated fireflies. They went this way. I stopped at the bridge of the Third Ring Cave and listened to you holding my half-warm body here, calling me sadly, kissing me, shaking me and sucking me. ..... selfish, I know, but I can't help it ... You accompany me to die? What, if you don't have a pair, you can't completely "love to death". If you want to soar, you have to have two pairs of wings to play with. If you go to heaven, you will be treated differently. I can't live without you, and neither can you live without me. If it's hell, you're more worried about me going alone. You said that hell may be more civilized than this world (although I don't believe it), just like my delicate flower, because it won't be attacked by wind and rain again. At that time, you couldn't hear me clearly when I called you-it wasn't asking for liberation, it was throwing yourself into the mud, but asking cold-eyed ghosts to collude with cold-hearted people and laugh at my fate and your cowardice and carelessness. That's right. What should I do? It's hard to live. If it's too hard, you can't die freely. I don't want you to sacrifice your future for me ... alas! You said you'd better live and wait for that day! Is there that day? -You are my confidence; But you must leave at dawn. Do you really have the heart to leave me alone? I can't keep you, it is fate; But this flower, without sunshine and dew, will not die, and its petals will wither. What a pity! You can't forget me, love, I have no life except in your heart; Yes, I listen to you, I wait, I have to wait patiently when Cycas blooms; Love, you will always be a star above my head: if I die unfortunately, I will become a firefly. In this garden, I will fly in the dark beside the grass roots, from dusk to midnight and from midnight to dawn. I just hope there are no clouds in the sky, and I can see the unchanging big star in the sky every day, that is you. I hope you can shine more light for me, through night and day, I will be connected with love. If she is always by my side like a breeze! I also want my poems to flow like clear water, and I want my heart to be as long as a fish; But since it is my heart that is on fire, why not ask my leisure poems? -Jesus! You don't give her life and freedom for a day! Occasionally, I am a cloud in the sky. Occasionally, I am projected in your heart-you don't have to be surprised, let alone happy-and disappear in an instant. You and I met in the dark sea, you have yours, I have mine, direction; It would be better if you remember, but you'd better forget the light released at this meeting! I came to the Yangtze River to buy a lotus, and I came to the Yangtze River to buy a lotus. Peel off layers of lotus flowers with your hands, watch seagulls fly in front of you, and endure sad tears-I miss you, I miss you, Xiaolong! I tasted the lotus pulp and recalled its tenderness:-The curtain that didn't roll up in front of the steps covered the childlike love: I listened to your words again, "It will always be yours, my body and my soul." I have tasted lotus plumule, and my heart is more bitter than lotus plumule; Heart palpitations at night, lingering nightmares. Who knows my pain? You hurt me, dear. How am I supposed to live this life? But I can't blame you. I can't bear to guess that you have changed. My heart is soft: ④ You are mine! I still hold you tight-⑤ Unless it is turned upside down -⑤But who can imagine that day? ⑦ (1) This poem was originally published in Amy Xiaozha's Diary of Zhimo on September 9, 925. ② The word "dragon" is "red" at the time of publication. (3) The "concentricity" in the diary is "vanishing". There is no ":"in the diary. ⑤ The "-"in the diary is ";" ⑥ The "-"in the diary is ",". The sentence in the diary is "but I can't imagine that day!" At the end of the article, there is "Shanghai-Nanjing Road on September 4th". In the middle of the night, the pipa in the deep alley was awakened from sleep by it, the pipa in the middle of the night! Whose sorrow is it, whose finger is it, like a biting wind, like a bitter rain, like a fallen flower. Late at night, when I fell asleep, I stirred up a string to urge me to play at the corner of the palace merchant, and a waning moon hung on the willow tip in the middle of the night. Ah, the waning moon is like a broken hope to him. He wears a flowered hat on his head. (1) was written in1May, 926, and was first published in the 8th issue of Morning Post Supplement Poetry on May 20th of the same year, with the signature of Zhimo. "Build a wall" You and I can't blaspheme the word, and don't forget to swear before God. I not only want your softest tenderness, but also wrap my heart like a banana coat forever; I want your love to be as strong as pure steel and build a wall in this flowing life; Let the autumn wind blow away the yellow leaves in the garden, and let termites rot the colorful wall for thousands of years; So that one day lightning shook the universe-but it could not shake the freedom in the "love wall" between you and me! (1) written in1August, 925, first published in Modern Review, Volume 2, No.39, on September 5 of the same year, signed by Xu Zhimo. Later, I received a collection of poems "Night of Cold Jade". Without Lei Feng, without Lei Feng, Lei Feng collapsed into a large wasteland with many green onions on the top; There are a lot of green onions on it, and Lei Feng is out of sight. Lei Feng has become a wasteland. Why do you feel sorry for this destruction? There are many abnormal conditions that should not be divided, and there are also many abnormal conditions that should not be divided; Why do you feel sorry for this destruction? Why do you feel: this tower is suppressed and this grave is buried. It is better to suppress it than to bury it! Depression is better than burying happiness. Why do you feel that this tower is depressed and this grave is buried? No more Lei Feng; Lei Feng is buried in people's memory: like a dream, like a pet; Like a dream, a pet, and no Lei Feng; Since then, Lei Feng has been buried in people's memory. September, West Lake. (1) was written in1September, 925, and was first published in the supplement of Morning Post on1October 5/0 in the same year, under the signature of Zhimo. "It's not easy to live these days." Yesterday, I braved the heavy rain and went to Yanxialing in Guangxi. Nanfeng disappeared into the mist. I stopped under the eaves of a pine shop and asked a village girl, did the osmanthus in Wengjiashan look good last year? The village girl looked at me carefully first. Like a bird with wet feathers, I thought, she must feel very strange. On this rainy day, she walked a long way alone, but she didn't come to ask if the osmanthus was fragrant this year. "Guest, it is unlucky for you to come too early and too late; This is the famous Manjia Lane. At this time of year, there is a bad smell everywhere. The continuous rain and wind these days have made the weather so bad. This year's morning osmanthus is over. " Sure enough, this laurel forest can't give me happy thoughts; I saw the withered thin core on the branch and looked at the sadness, alas, the innocent disaster! Why is everything so haggard? It is not easy to live these days! It is not easy to live these days! West Lake, September (1) was written on1September, 925, and was first published in the supplement of the Morning Post on1October 2 1 day in the same year, with the signature crane. This is my own figure in front of Ekster Church, reflected in the front hall of a foreign education building tonight, a cold and steep hall, a lonely figure. I asked the statue in front of the temple, "Who is in charge of this strange life?" The old statue stared at me blankly, as if thinking about this bizarre problem. I turned to the cold and gloomy star, which was rising from the back of this church, but it answered me with mocking charm. Under the starlight, I met my mystery face to face! At this time, the old tree beside me, hidden in the innocence under the war memorial, sighed lightly, like the bleak autumn rain in the desolate and empty courtyard. He has at least one hundred years of experience and has seen the world. He also counted the practical jokes of life; Aggressive in spring and summer, mother-in-law in winter. He knew the oldest elders in this town and watched them baptize babies with yellow hair. Look at their spouses, who belong to this Sect-and finally, look at the tombstones on their names! He has long been tired of watching this semi-tragic comedy, and his carbuncle is even more reluctant; So he and I became one and sighed-ah! My figure is covered with fallen leaves! 1July, 925. (1) Aikeshato, now translated as Exeter, a British city. Hai Yunyi: "Girl, single girl, why do you miss the seaside at dusk?" -Girl, go home, girl! ""oh no; I won't go home, I love the night wind blowing: "-on the beach, in the twilight, there is a girl-wandering, wandering." Girl, girl, why are you wandering in this deserted sea? Girl, go home, girl! " "Oh no; You listen to me sing, the sea, I sing, and you say, "Under the starlight and the cool wind, the girl's voice is swaying gently-high and low." Three "girls, bold girls! There was darkness that day, and a bad storm came in an instant-girl, go home, girl! " "Oh no; Watch me dance in the air, imitating a seagull without waves: "-in the dark, on the beach, a slim figure rotates-dancing, dancing." "Listen, the anger of the sea, girl, go home, girl! Look, the wild waves, girl, go home, girl! " "Oh no; Haibo can't swallow me, I love the turbulence of the sea! " In the tide, in the waves, ah, a flustered Harmo girl, wasted, wasted. Miss Wubo, where is it, girl? Where's your loud voice? Where is your graceful figure? Where, ah, brave girl? "The night engulfed the splendor, and there was no light at the seaside; The tide engulfed the beach, and there were no girls on the beach-no girls! (1) This poem was published in the August 1925 issue of Morning News. Susu Susu is an infatuated woman, like a wild rose, with a plump figure; Like a wild rose, her elegance came to a storm and destroyed her life experience. Her tombstone was submerged in weeds, and she was sad; Submerged in the creeping weeds, her sadness-ah, this barren land has become a rose covered with blood! That rose is the soul of an infatuated woman, nourished by the dew in the morning, warmed by the evening breeze, comforted by the long night, looking at the stars. You said this should be her peace? But fate is also called relentless hands to climb, climb, climb all the splendor on the blue stripes-poor Susie, she was once destroyed! (1) was written on 1 May 5, 925, first published in the same year, 65438+February1,the seventh anniversary supplement of Morning News, signed by Xu Zhimo. 3. I don't need the vast sky where tigers gather, and I don't want to put a huge paper owl in the sky to play tricks on the winds in all directions; I just want a minute, I just want a little light, I just want a crack, just like a child crawling in front of the window of a dark room, looking at the immortal crack on the western horizon, a little light, a minute. (1) Less writing time. The publication of newspapers and periodicals is unknown. Don't leave Cambridge lightly, just like I came gently; I waved my hand gently and bid farewell to the clouds in the western sky. The golden willow by the river is the beautiful shadow of the bride in the sunset, rippling in my heart. Green grass on the soft mud, oily, swaying at the bottom of the water; In the gentle waves of He Kanghe River, I would like to be a pool under the shade of aquatic plants, not a clear spring, but a rainbow in the sky broken among floating algae, precipitating a rainbow-like dream. Looking for dreams? Supporting a long pole, wandering to a greener place on the grass, loading a boat with starlight, singing in the splendor of starlight, but I can't sing, just a farewell flute quietly; Summer insects are also silent for me, silence is Cambridge tonight! I left quietly, just as I came quietly; I waved my sleeve without taking away a cloud. 1 1 6th of the month (1), written in No. 1928+065438+1October 6th, originally published in No Crescent Monthly 1928+02+ 10, signed by Xu Zhimo. The oriole sweeps the color and flies the tree. "Look, an oriole!" Some people say. Tail up, it is silent, and the brilliance illuminates the dense-like spring, like flame, like enthusiasm, waiting for it to sing, we wait and see, for fear of disturbing it. But as soon as it spread its wings, it broke through the thick and became a colorful cloud; It flies, disappears and goes away-like spring, like flame, like enthusiasm. (1) The writing time is unknown. The first issue 1930, February 10, New Moon, Volume 2,No. 12, belongs to Xu Zhimo. Life is gloomy, dark and snake-shaped, and life becomes a tunnel: once trapped, you can only go forward bravely, with your hands struggling in the devil's guts and no skylight overhead. Under the oppression of terror, what do you want more than to destroy it? May 29th (1) was written on May 29th, 1928. It was first published in the 3rd issue of New Moon Monthly on May 29th, Volume 2, 1929, signed by Zhimo, and later included in the poetry collection Tiger. Sitting in the middle of the night: when there is a round light outside the window, the wind in the streets and lanes carries dust: I want to curl a broken tune on the bare nib to express my broken thoughts. Sitting deep in the middle of the night: the fierce night cold is at the window, jealous of the residual heat in the room, and I don't forgive my limbs: but I will draw some broken patterns with semi-dry ink, because broken is my thought. Sitting in the middle of the night, there are ugly ghosts around me: withered and lonely trees are shouting by the cold river. Compared with the desperate posture, it is like I want to re-emerge a broken world in a broken consciousness. Sit quietly in the middle of the night, close your eyes and look back at the past clouds; Ah, she is still a white lotus in Leng Yan, leaning against Xiaofeng, with 10 thousand kinds of exquisiteness; But I am not sunshine or dew. All I have is some broken breath, like a group of mice chasing between the walls and rafters, chasing darkness and nothingness! (1) was written in March 193 1 year, first published in Modern Students in April 193 1 year, signed by Xu Zhimo, and later included in Tiger Collection. "I don't know which direction the wind is blowing." I don't know which direction the wind blows-I am spinning in the light waves of my dream. I don't know which direction the wind blows-I am in a dream, her tenderness, my intoxication. I don't know which direction the wind blows-I am in a dream, and sweetness is the glory in my dream. I don't know from which direction the wind blows-I am in a dream, her ingratitude, my sadness. I don't know from which direction the wind is blowing-I am in a dream and my heart is broken in the sadness in my dream! I don't know which direction the wind blows-I'm in a dream, and the darkness is the light in my dream. (1) was written in 1928, and was first published in New Moon in March of the same year 10, under the name of Shima. On that day, you wandered freely and lightly in the air. You don't want to stay on the other side of the sky or in the corner of the earth. Your happiness is unimpeded, and you inadvertently have a first-class river on the humble ground, although your brilliance touched his ethereal spirit when crossing the road, awakened him and embraced your beautiful image. What he holds tightly is a dense sadness, because it can't stand still in the beautiful scenery; He wants you to fly over Qian Shan and cast a wider shadow of the lake and sea! He is wasting for you, that first-class stream, in the hope of incompetence, I hope you fly back! (1) was written in July of 193 1 year. It was first incorporated into Tiger Collection published by Shanghai Xinri Bookstore in August of the same year, and then published in the third issue of Poetry Journal on October 5, 65438, under the signature of Xu Zhimo. The train grabbed the railing, the train grabbed the railing and ran in the dark: over the mountain, over the water, over the grave of the dead, over the bridge, listening to the sound of a steel-boned cow, over the wilderness, over the ruined temple; After the pond, the frog played drums in the dark water, and after the village of Koukou, there was no fire. There are no passengers getting on or off at Bingqing Station, and the platform is bare, which is really a sin. At this time, the groan of the car woke up three or two stars in the sky and hid in the clouds to look around; What's that for? They are thinking, this is a cold night without rest, just like a long worm. Breath is a flame, and a dead child rushes into the darkness regardless of danger. With those two narrow roads, it is a track, bearing this heavy and dreamy weight. Tired! Those strange and kind people put their hearts down and gave them their whole lives. No matter whether they climb mountains or are low-lying, no matter whether there are strange birds cursing in the deep forest, the glory of the sky is directed at destruction; Just trying to get by and snore. When the bus arrives tomorrow, take your wallet and leave! What a nice attitude! Trouble has no bottom; You and I were in the sky, and we didn't have a rest that day. We open our eyes and see everything clearly, but how can we control our lives? On light, wisdom and eternal beauty, we are all suffering in the same strain, but you and I live longer than them. This thing is a lake anyway. (1) was founded as the third issue of 193 1 July, 2009 19, with the signature of Zhimo. This poem, formerly known as A Confused Account, is Xu Zhimo's last poem. On the last day, when the spring breeze no longer comes back, when the dead branches are no longer green, there is no light in the sky at that time, only the dark devil breath fills the space where the sun, moon and starlight die; On the day when all standards are overthrown and all values are revalued: all hypocrisy, vanity and vanity are exposed in the spirit of the final judgment: naked souls crawl before the Lord; -I love, at that time, you and I don't have to be proud, not to mention complaining, defending grievances, and not to hide. -Your heart and mine, like a snow-white ice love, are beautiful, joyful and beautiful on the green stem of love. Before the Lord, love is the only glory. (1) The writing time and published newspapers are unknown. The inspiration of love-one of the best-is at least inspired by him, just as he inspired most of the poems in the past ten years! Why don't you sit down first? It's been a long time. I think it's over. I am completely out of this world, and I don't know where I am. It seems that there is a lotus-like cloud holding me (with a lotus-like smile on her face) and taking me to a distant place ... Alas, I really don't want to come back. People say liberation, so maybe! I am like a cloud, a pure white cloud, with no weight at all. Sunshine holds me, I am a light, a ball of light, flying into the distance.