Excerpt from the poetry of Mid Autumn Festival

excerpt from poetry of Mid Autumn Festival (saltu: a place name of Daqing City, Mongolian means the place where the moon rises) the place where the moon rises. There is the sound of carving and returning to the nest. There are fish leaping out of the blue light. There is the sound of zither playing the ancient legend. Many unknown eyes fall on the birch tree Blinking to reveal wisdom and aloofness. At night, but to the moon. Infinite tenderness. Also that night. Those window flowers cut by grandma were wrapped in ice flowers. In my dream, they melted the Mid Autumn Festival. Tang people. When the mid autumn moon came, some people were panicked. The moonlight is like a bullet. People are hurt. The Mid Autumn Festival is wearing a dark blue cloak. Is that my bulletproof coat. People hide in every happy place and visit their hometown overnight. Mid autumn makes people strong. We eat moon cakes. They are as long as mines. We were calculated by the moon. Singing in the cold and summer, bruised all over. Mid Autumn Festival: it's lonely and rainy. Mid Autumn Festival can't go home. Wind and rain accompany me to the Mid Autumn Festival, but I have no words to send sorrow. "Mid autumn soloist" Author: Dao Zhi de looks at another round of mid autumn moon. Acacia tears are as cold as iron. Who cares for me? It's hard to recite "Mid Autumn Festival, or a round" thought that the wounded sky was still wrapped with black bandages. I thought that the dust of the disaster is like summer rain, but it's also hard to clean the blood of May. There's a milky way with turbid eyes, which spans 100000 homes in the body of May Court, was cut to pieces all over the family feeling a string of groaning days, so far the sacrifice from the wet thoughts, to the round most round night. Set out, in a silent way, crying in the running, strong vow, flowing from August. Then, a raised arm let the heavy Mid Autumn Festival, no longer collapse. Don't think that the wounded sky is as old as the clouds. Don't think there's no moon tonight. Even if I look up in an incomplete position, the Mid Autumn Festival is still a round of "Mid Autumn Festival". 1. If that is a separation, can I forgive you in my young heart? Just like leaves can forgive rude wild wind. Youth can forgive years Erase her from the Mid Autumn Festival. 2. The crickets stop making noise. The pomegranate trees are covered with red fruits. The last rain wet the wild roses (they say that the roses by the lake like songs). Would you sit under the moon? Listen to me sing. Listen to my songs. Fly into the mountains. Fly over the lake. Fly to the full moon. The author of Mid Autumn Festival: red wolf. The sky in the city can't see the moon. People in the city hold the moon in their hands At the side of the road, I waved to the taxi. I didn't know if it was me or my hometown. I was smoking on the scaffold. In the dark gray night sky, there were one or two stars twinkling. At that moment, there was a little more melancholy in the warmth of the festival. The author of the cold of the Mid Autumn Festival: the oblique moon hung in the sky. Mother's heart was more sad. Some hard cheap mooncakes were scattered innocently On the food table my daughter whispered in her heart Mid Autumn Festival! The Mid Autumn Festival asks you to go quickly. The moon is as white as the stars. The heat of the red sun can wipe away the tears on her face! My daughter is not good at making people happy. What's more, how can the dust trace covered by the years be bright with tears? The river of feelings is flooded with disasters. The Shu Road in my dream, the Pearl River in my dream, runs away! In the mother's body, the long wait in October is just to get through the disdainful crowd and realize the escape of life. In the daughter's heart, there is no hurt. Only the Mid Autumn Moon cool "Mid Autumn Festival" 3. Life is a difficult play. There is no light or music on the stage surrounded by people. Only I sing the song with my loud and clear voice that I forgot my name. So what's the future? I don't know which day In April, the Mid Autumn Festival has risen to the mid air. The lake will also have the sound of tides. The only constant thing is that the moon is full and the pale chrysanthemums are blooming in the forest. Under the moon, you and I tearfully waved goodbye to the author of the Mid Autumn Festival memories: Yi Fan's cheek is full and beautiful, enjoying the festival, and Bing Xin is not old and full of imperfections. It's hard to think about human affairs, but you are still in the air. I wish my feud could not be solved without a blade, but I pray that there is no iron to accumulate resentment; the circle of dust cherishes the beauty of the moon, and Shao de lingers to see the full moon. The author of "nostalgia for slaves. The Mid Autumn Festival's happenings" is: the lonely son has no complaints in autumn, the wind is clear, the night rain is drunk, and the eyes are stagnant. It's still remembered that the leaves are yellow, the moon is near, and it's hard to avoid the cold rain. It's hard to promote, after drinking, introspection, the relatives wipe their tears. Looking at the sweat, they are sober and speechless. When the rain breaks, the shy Moon grows cold, they cage up their faces, and they miss each other more. The cold embrace is determined, and they chew thousands of sorrows. The moonlight will not stay The jade rabbit is not near. It's not a memorable day. After all, it's not in love. It's crazy. Nostalgia in the Mid Autumn Festival last night, the wind suddenly blows. The dark clouds cover you. Do you want to come? The wind blows and the rain rushes to the meeting. The stars cover their faces and fall asleep. Do you want to come? You can't miss you. You can't miss you. Don't let all the brilliance be like water. Only in our dark heart. You rise like mother's light Soft fingers in the children's ears. In the night when the flowers are sleepless. Don't cover our yearning heart with sad beauty. You sprinkle the fragrance of osmanthus and the cake fragrance of Wuren. Each sip of our round dream is broken. People say that the moon is the hometown of Ming Dynasty. Brothers may have burnt incense to worship. Tonight, mom's moon cake sends out the smell of concern. Next door younger sister and brothers play the game of childhood under the moon. You The warm words of Mid Autumn Festival