Full text of "Singing Iris" by Shu Ting

My sadness rises like a faint halo because of your shining. Iris - Inscription 1 On your chest I have become a singing iris. The gentle breeze of your breath blows me. Cover me temporarily with your broad palm under the jingling moonlight. 2 Now I can dream. Is it snowy?

The ancient wind chimes and leaning tower of the big forest. Can I have a real Christmas tree? It is hung with skates, divine flutes and fairy fireworks, showing off the joy like a fountain. Can I run down the street laughing? Three Where is my little basket? The autumn harvest where the grass grows in the fertile fields. Where is my old kettle? My thirsty lunch break under the scaffolding. My bow that has never been tied. My English practice: I love you, love you. Fold and pull under my street lamp. The long figure, the tears I shed and swallowed countless times, and don’t ask me why I turned slightly to the past in my dream, whimpering quietly and stubbornly like a cricket hiding in the corner. Let me be quiet. Dream, don't leave my very short street. We have gone a long, long time. Let me have a peaceful dream. Don't disturb me. Ignore the circling crows. As long as there is no cloud in your eyes. Let me have a ridiculous dream. Don't laugh at me. I want to walk into your poems every day in green land and return to your side crimson every night. Let me have a wild dream. Forgive and tolerate my tyranny. When I Say: You are mine! You are my dear, don’t blame me... I even long for the thousands of waves of passion to drown you thousands of times. When our heads are next to our heads and we ride the high-speed train to the moon, the world makes a sharp roar. Falling backwards, time spins crazily and falls like an avalanche. When we quietly look at each other, our souls are like a vortex in a field in an art exhibition. The sun draws us deeper and deeper. Silence, fulfillment, harmony. Six, we hold hands like this. Sit in the dark and let the old and young voice run through our hearts. Even if an emperor comes knocking on the door, you don’t have to pay attention. But... Wait a minute? What is that? What sound wakes up the scarlet beat in my veins when I feel dizzy, the ever-awake sea, what is that? Whose will makes the eyes of my body and soul open at the same time. You have to carry the cross every day and follow me. Eight umbrella-shaped dreams fly like dandelions, surrounded by a ring of mountains. Nine bougainvillea of ??my emotions, you would rather life and death return to you, wind and rain. On rainy hillsides, don’t sway on the vase. The wild swan in my nature. Even if you bear a gunshot wound, you must cross the unobstructed winter. Don’t linger on the spring scenery with railings. However, my name and my belief have entered the runway at the same time, representing the nation. A certain single record I have no right to rest. The sprint of life has no end, only speed. I raise my face to the sky where the highest judgment will be made. Wind, you can take me there, but I still have to admit that I am not a happy person for my own heart. Right 11 My dear, raise your lamp to shine on my road, let me spread far and wide with my poems. The bell of ideals is ringing behind the swamp, the night is so soft, the lights and the city are clustered in my arms, the lights Arching, let my lines of poetry continue to trek with me. The avenue twists its tentacles and shouts loudly: It is impossible to pass through the land crisscrossed by springs, but the road signs are given to flowers. The pumpkin shed, walking out of the highland barley fields, and going deep into the wilderness life constantly forges me with a heavy yoke on one side and a flower crown on the other, but no one knows that I am still yours. A stupid girl who can’t do arithmetic. No matter how the symphony of the times sweeps away my response, you can still Recognize my unique voice Thirteen I stand upright, fearless, proud, exceptionally young. The storm of pain is in my heart, the sun is in my forehead, my yellow skin is bright and transparent, my black hair is rich and lush, Mother China, I am here to answer your call. Rename your children fourteen. Call me your birch sapling, your little blue star. Mom, if a bullet comes, hit me first. I smiled, and my eyes were exceptionally clear, slowly sliding down from my mother’s shoulder. Don’t cry anymore, the blood of red flowers and grass is burning on the top of your waves... Fifteen. By that time, my beloved, don’t be sad. Although no one will raise their light-colored clothes and knock through the alleys with the sound of cicadas like rain. Although your stained glass windows no longer have naughty hands ringing the alarm clock, saying angrily: Now go to your places and go back.

On your route, don't create my simple image on the jade base, let alone accompany the lonely guitar. Turn back the calendar page by page. Your position is under that flag. Ideal makes pain shine. This is my entrustment to the olive. The last words the tree leaves for you Come to me with the doves Come to me in the morning You will find me in people's love Find your singing iris