Modern poems about spring

Author: Zhu Ziqing

In the east wind, passing my face, the drizzle is the fluff of spring.

2. Spring

Author: Ai Qing

Spring has arrived, and the peach blossoms in Longhua are in bloom.

It opens on those bloody nights.

There are no stars at those nights, and the wind is blowing at those nights.

Those nights listening to the widow sobbing, and this ancient land.

Always like a hungry beast, licking the blood of young people.

Tenacious son's blood, so after a long winter.

After the season of ice and snow, after the expectation of infinite sleepiness.

These bloodstains, bloodstains, on the night of myth.

In the dark of the east, countless buds burst open.

Spring is everywhere in Jiangnan. People ask: Where does spring come from?

I said: from the tomb hole in the suburbs.

3. "Facing the sea, spring blossoms"

Author: Haizi

From tomorrow on, be a happy person, feed horses, cut firewood and travel around the world.

From tomorrow on, I care about food and vegetables. I have a house, facing the sea, with spring flowers.

Starting from tomorrow, I will write to every relative and tell them my happiness.

That happy lightning told me, and I will tell everyone.

Give every river and mountain a warm name, stranger, I bless you.

May your future be bright and your lover be well.

I wish you happiness in the world. I only want to face the sea and spring blossoms.

4. Early spring

Author: Shu Ting

Friend, it's spring. Dispel sadness and wipe away tears.

Smile at the sun, although there is no torrent of flowers.

The shackles of winter are washed away, and the fragrance of drunkenness comes to my face.

Floods all over the mountains, although there are no bird waterfalls.

At the foggy dawn, thousands of silver beads were splashed down.

Rolling in the street at dusk, but waiting.

Once it thundered, the dark clouds hurried away.

It is the most beautiful and best dream, and it may come brilliantly overnight.

There is still a chill and frost trouble.

If you listen carefully, the wind is still whistling on the five old peaks.

The trembling valley seems to wail together.

But there have also been a few small cuckoos, such as a flame that can't be blown out.

Let the world warm, and even the clouds will no longer float.

My friends, suppose that spring is beautiful and rich.

Because it passed the final chill.

5. "My One Spring"

Author: Gu Cheng

Outside the wooden window, it is the cultivated land where I lie flat.

My little yak, my single share plough.

A small group of sun is coming along the fence.

The sky-blue petals began to bend.

Dew was afraid and wet the memory.

The frightened waxbill looked at the celestial pole.

I'm going to work and pick the seeds of my dreams.

Let them shine in the palm of your hand and then all fall into the water.