Please help me, are there any good poems (modern poems)? One is worth 5 points and one is worth 10 points! (Expedited)

Bitan

Sixteen handles of osmanthus syrup cracked green glaze/A few romances hiding under the parasol/My, the ones I didn’t bring, my romance/In the river Downstream/If the Bitan is more glassy/It can illuminate my sad profile/If the grasshopper boat is more grasshopper/My sadness will be wiped out/At half past eight. The suspension bridge has not yet woken up/Summer vacation has just begun, Xia Zheng is young/The laughter of sophomore girls is flying on the water/The dragonfly is flying, the dragonfly is flying away/You are flying. If you perched on the stern of my boat/How light this boat would be/These oars should remind me/Who is Xi Shi and who is Fan Li/Then row to Taihu Lake, row to Dongting/Listen to the ape cries of the Tang Dynasty/Paddle to the gurgling Tianhe River /Look at you, in the myth / the boat will be capsized. It is also a beautiful traffic accident/You are weaving your brocade on the other side/I am playing my flute on this side/From the last Chinese Valentine's Day to the next Chinese Valentine's Day

Nostalgia

Childhood/Nostalgia It’s a small stamp/I’m on this end/My mother is on that end/When I grow up/Nostalgia is a narrow stamp I’m on this end The bride is coming on the other end Nostalgia is a short grave/I Outside/Mother is inside/And now/Nostalgia is a shallow strait/I am at this end/The mainland is at the other end

Wind Chimes

My heart is a seven-story pagoda The wind chimes hanging on the eaves/ding dong dong dong dong/come and fall one after another, knocking a person's name/----Do you also feel a slight earthquake on your tower?/This is the pulse of silence, day and night/you heard it ?, ding ding ding ding ding?/This annoying tone can’t be suppressed/unless all the winds are redirected/the bells are removed/all the towers are knocked down/just because my heart is a high and low wind chime/ding ding ding ding 咛/from now on The falling/knocking on a person's name

Waiting for you, in the rain

Waiting for you, in the rain, in the rain that makes the rainbow/The sound of cicadas falls, the sound of frogs rises /A pool of red lotuses is like red flames, in the rain/It doesn’t matter whether you come or not, but it feels like/Every lotus looks like you/Especially across the dusk, across such drizzle/Eternity, moment, moment, eternity/ Waiting for you, outside time/within time, waiting for you, in a moment, in eternity/if your hand is in mine, at this moment/if your fragrance/is in my nostrils, I will say, little Lover/Promise, this hand should be picking lotuses, in Wu Palace/this hand should be/shaking a handle of cinnamon syrup, in a magnolia boat/a star hanging on the cornice of the science museum/hanging like an earring/Swiss watch It's already seven o'clock / Suddenly you come / Stepping on the red lotus after the rain, gracefully, you come / Like a little poem / From an allusion of love, you come / From Jiang Baishi's words, there is rhyme Earth, here you come

The piccolo that summons souls

The soul returns, mother, we cannot stay in the east for long, / the tropical sea where typhoons are born, / the air pressure in the North Pacific in July is very low ./The soul is back, mother, we cannot stay in the south for a long time,/the one-way street of the sun train/the equatorial moxibustion on the soles of pedestrians' feet in July./the soul is back, mother, we cannot stay in the north for a long time,/the white kingdom of reindeer,/ There is no Sabbath night in July, only daytime./The soul returns, mother, you cannot stay in a foreign country for long./The little urn sleeps beside the floor-to-ceiling window,/accompanied by the little plants planted by your hands. Return, mother, Come to guard the small town behind your fire./When spring comes, I will walk on the wet and cold Qingming Road,/Bury you in a small grave in my hometown./Bury you in Jiangnan, a small town in the south of the Yangtze River./The vertical hair of the weeping willows hangs down to On your grave,/When spring comes, you will have a girl's dream,/Dreaming about your mother./And on the road to Qingming, mother, my footprints will be deep,/On the long hair of the willow tree The rain is dripping, mother, and my memories are dripping./The soul is coming back, mother, to guard this empty city in all directions.