The End of Modern Poems about Wing Chun

Modern poems praising spring 1. Modern poetry describing spring

Praise spring

In that cold winter

Spring has been bred.

Look at the red plum proudly snowing in the wind.

Spring is written on every petal.

People are everywhere in spring.

Joy, yearning and hope

When the river thaws,

Snow melting

Everything came back to life.

The earth is a green season.

We really entered the spring.

ah ...

The songs in spring are so sweet.

The flowers in spring are so delicate.

The smiling face in spring is so charming.

The air in spring is so fresh.

This tree is too green.

This mountain is very high.

The water is so blue.

The sun is shining in Kyushu.

Dongfeng Man Chun.

I want to fly in the wind.

Walk into this beautiful spring

Spring is full of vitality.

Bring infinite beauty and strength to people

Bring new hope to the world

You use that hot hand

Healed your mental wounds.

You use that fiery heart

The wildness that warms the earth

Your smile

Dispel melancholy and sadness

You give love selflessly.

Dedicated to the world.

year after year

Billions of years of vicissitudes

2. Modern poetry praising spring

Spring sleep

Hanging clothes carefully.

The star coughs.

Swallows fly back to the eaves.

Spread the news that she is coming.

Kittens lined up neatly.

Trim a bent nail

The dog turned the pot.

Shake off the dense flowers

She swims faster than a jellyfish.

She landed on the windowsill and looked around.

Just do it lightly.

Just above the short month.

Just blow quietly.

Wet

Song of spring

towering

Spring floats among the branches.

Spring shines among the flowers.

Spring sings in the wings of swallows.

Dancing in the pigeon whistle in spring

Spring gives the western hills a green wave.

Spring gives Changhe a bunch of laughter.

Spring brings vitality to the fields.

The ancient city in spring is charming.

Spring thunder beats drums.

Running and crying in the spring breeze.

Spring rain spreads songs.

The spring tide is as rough as waves.

A vibrant spring has dyed every cell of people green.

A bird of hope is in the hearts of Beijingers.

Are quietly nesting.

3. Modern poetry praising spring

Friend, it's spring.

Dispel sadness and wipe away tears.

Smile at the sun.

Although there is no torrent of flowers yet,

Wash away the shackles of winter,

Filled with the fragrance of drunkenness,

Floods in plains and canyons.

Although there is no birdsong waterfall yet,

Thousands of silver beads splashed,

Scattered in the misty dawn,

Rolling in the street at dusk.

But wait,

Once it thunders,

Dark clouds fled in a hurry.

It was the most beautiful and best dream.

Maybe it will be brilliant overnight.

There is still a chill,

And cold troubles.

If you listen carefully,

On the five old peaks, the wind is still whistling.

Trembling valley,

As if wailing together.

But there are some little cuckoos,

Like an unquenchable flame,

Let heaven and earth warm,

Even clouds no longer float,

Friends, let's talk.

The reason why spring is beautiful and rich,

Because it passed the final chill.

From: Early Spring by Shu Ting

Extended data:

Shu Ting (formerly known as Gong, 1952-), a China poetess, was born in shima town, Longhai, Fujian Province, and was a representative of the misty poetry school. Her masterpiece was Shu Ting's Collected Works.

1969 went to the countryside to jump the queue, 1972 went back to the city as a worker, 1979 began to publish poetry works, 1980 worked as a professional writer in Fujian Federation of Literary and Art Circles. She and her contemporaries, such as Beidao, Gu Cheng and Liang, set off a wave of "misty poetry" in China's poetry circles with different poetic styles from their predecessors.

4. Modern poetry praising spring

A modern poem praising spring: the snow and ice melt, and the footsteps of spring are approaching. Everyone longs for spring, apricot rain with wet clothes, and cold willow wind. First, the small forest in the city turned green, and the humble life of ants and flying insects in my small forest came under the soil with spring. I heard the sound of earthworms crawling and knocked down the closed door of the soil on the grass in the grove with their soft heads. I saw a group of goats waving their long beards and bleating my youth and soul. A black goat came to me leisurely, with tears of happiness on his face. Second, push open the door of spring and hear birds singing in the city. A few primrose birds were afraid to go into town, but they cheered outside the school. They are as simple as farmers in rural areas, which makes me feel close. They are my friends. It seems that they are relatives I met by chance. They are looking for unknown bugs and making friendly sounds to their peers outside school. I fell in love with the sound of birds. In the contention of birds, I pushed open the door of spring. This spring, this spring, my heart is in a mess. Sometimes I think of some tombstones, and sometimes I think of my childhood. This spring, my heart is in a mess. My spring poems were written in spring. My poems are leaves and crowns in spring. What else can I do this spring? Who else can I embrace spring and time with? The rain passed through my chest. A voice dripped from a high place, like a Rapunzel shawl, and a black waterfall held time tightly on me. Therefore, being a dizzy elf in the endless rain curtain can't tell who is the real irresistible desire. Raindrops are flying in the air and slowly floating in the air. The accumulated strength seeped into my broad chest quietly from the simple clouds, so the waves in my chest stirred ripples and beat on the emotional shore reef. Waves of breath and drops of rain nourish each other, and drops of rain go deep into my heart without cover. Mix with my thoughts, then wash everything through the narrow space in my heart, while a ray of sunshine travels through time and reaches my sunny sky. 1 the poetic heart in spring is lonely, just like the flower shadow on the edge of the wasteland is lovely, and the piano sound in autumn is elegant and can float in the breeze. Three hundred battle poems belong to Li Bai. My poetic thoughts are scattered by the yellow sand. There is no need to complain, just like there is no need to envy. You don't have to expect, just like you don't have to regret, all the pain and joy are just fleeting. Four people stopped at the smoking hall, so I abandoned the ship and went ashore with only a sword, a poem, a roll of mountains and a sound of water. The memory of childhood is listening to the flute of dew in the frost and snow at dusk. This is the same as life in the twilight. Wandering on the mountain road, looking up, the moonlight is still there. I'm not the meniscus mark of 20 years ago. In June, I got into the city girl's bat shirt and stirred the boy's heart. Although Luming Literature is still alive and dead, she is crying, but busy people don't realize it. Only worry jumps and shines like a fountain in a deserted valley. When the western scenery grows up, I don't want to make any footnotes on life and friendship. I don't want to make any comments on those poems that unfold like purple swallows crossing the water at dusk. At dawn, there must be a star twinkling in the fog. Oh, she's like your affectionate eyes. In the lonely poem, what do you ask me to listen to? Look at the dead leaves on that branch, there is an unspeakable rural accent. Spring sleep is hanging clothes carefully, and the stars cough. The swallow flew back to the eaves to spread her news. Kittens line up neatly, trim bent nails, and dogs turn the pan to shake off the fat. Thick flowers swim faster than jellyfish. She landed on the windowsill and looked at the short moon. As long as she blows gently, it will be wet and tick-tock. Cui, the song of spring, floats on the branches and shines among the flowers. Spring sings in the wings of swallows and dances in the whistle of pigeons. Spring has given Xishan a green wave and a string of laughter to the long river. The noisy spring has given the ancient city a charming and beautiful spring thunder, a drum, a spring breeze and a call of spring rain. It is said that the spring tide is surging like waves. A vibrant spring has dyed every cell of people green. A bird of hope quietly nests in the hearts of Beijingers.

5. Modern poetry describing spring

Nie Luda's Your Smile

You can take my bread if you like.

You can come and breathe my air, but

Don't take off your smile.

Don't touch this rose,

This is your fountain,

Fall from your joy

It will explode immediately,

Your happiness will come out.

Sudden silver foam.

How hard the struggle I'm engaged in is,

Every time I look back with tired eyes

Often see

The world has not turned upside down,

However, at the sight of your smile.

Ran Ran flew to me,

The door to everything in life

It opened for me at once.

My love,

In the darkest moment.

Will stand out from your smile,

If you suddenly see

My blood splashed on the stones in the street,

Laugh, because of your smile,

I have it.

It will become a sharp treasure knife.

By the sea in autumn,

Your smile

Set off a splashing waterfall,

Spring, the season of love,

I need your smile more.

It looks forward to my flowers,

Blue, rose

Are all in the motherland that I echo.

Smile, it challenges the night,

Challenge the day and the moon,

De-coil island

Street challenge,

Dedicated to those who love you.

Stupid young people challenge,

Whether it's on or off.

My eyes,

When I take a step

Whether forward or backward,

You can't give me bread or air.

Light and spring,

However, you must give me a smile.

Otherwise, I can only go to bed at once.

Spring dream/

I like ...

Put your dreams in spring

It's called spring dream.

I tried to dream about you.

But always in vain.

I like to turn my pillow upside down when I wake up.

I heard that this will make your dream come true.

In this dreamy spring.

What I toss and turn is

South of Guzhen

6. Modern poetry praising spring

A modern poem praising spring: the snow and ice melt, and the footsteps of spring are approaching. Everyone longs for spring, apricot rain with wet clothes, and cold willow wind. First, the small forest in the city turned green, and the humble life of ants and flying insects in my small forest came under the soil with spring. I heard the sound of earthworms crawling and knocked down the closed door of the soil on the grass in the grove with their soft heads. I saw a group of goats waving their long beards and bleating my youth and soul. A black goat came to me leisurely, with tears of happiness on his face. Second, push open the door of spring and hear birds singing in the city. A few primrose birds were afraid to go into town, but they cheered outside the school. They are as simple as farmers in rural areas, which makes me feel close. They are my friends. It seems that they are relatives I met by chance. They are looking for unknown bugs and making friendly sounds to their peers outside school. I fell in love with the sound of birds. In the contention of birds, I pushed open the door of spring. This spring, this spring, my heart is in a mess. Sometimes I think of some tombstones, and sometimes I think of my childhood. This spring, my heart is in a mess. My spring poems were written in spring. My poems are leaves and crowns in spring. What else can I do this spring? Who else can I embrace spring and time with? The rain passed through my chest. A voice dripped from a high place, like a Rapunzel shawl, and a black waterfall held time tightly on me. Therefore, being a dizzy elf in the endless rain curtain can't tell who is the real irresistible desire. Raindrops are flying in the air and slowly floating in the air. The accumulated strength seeped into my broad chest quietly from the simple clouds, so the waves in my chest stirred ripples and beat on the emotional shore reef. Waves of breath and drops of rain nourish each other, and drops of rain go deep into my heart without cover. Mix with my thoughts, then wash everything through the narrow space in my heart, while a ray of sunshine travels through time and reaches my sunny sky. 1 the poetic heart in spring is lonely, just like the flower shadow on the edge of the wasteland is lovely, and the piano sound in autumn is elegant and can float in the breeze. Three hundred battle poems belong to Li Bai. My poetic thoughts are scattered by the yellow sand. There is no need to complain, just like there is no need to envy. You don't have to expect, just like you don't have to regret, all the pain and joy are just fleeting. Four people stopped at the smoking hall, so I abandoned the ship and went ashore with only a sword, a poem, a roll of mountains and a sound of water. The memory of childhood is listening to the flute of dew in the frost and snow at dusk. This is the same as life in the twilight. Wandering on the mountain road, looking up, the moonlight is still there. I'm not the meniscus mark of 20 years ago. June got into the city girl's bat shirt and stirred the hearts of boys. Although Luming Literature is still alive and dead, she is crying, but busy people don't realize it. Only worry jumps and shines like a fountain in a deserted valley. When the western scenery grows up, I don't want to make any footnotes on life and friendship. I don't want to make any comments on those poems that unfold like purple swallows crossing the water at dusk. When a painful call is translated into the pale bell of a deserted temple, there must be a star flashing in the fog of dawn. Oh, she's like your affectionate eyes. In a lonely poem, you asked me what I was listening to. Look at the dead leaves on that branch, there is a vivid local accent. The Sound of Spring (Outdoor 2) The orange light above the river ice illuminates the dim people praying in the river bend and clumsily rolls the ice lamp beside them on the river ice. The candlelight is swaying on the river, which is very gentle. The cold reflection reflects that the majestic snow in early spring has drifted under the river ice and the holy water flows quietly. This year, Jiangcun's well-being was doomed.

◎ The warmth of the Chunjiang River melted the green grass in the moonlight, sowing folk songs that were wetter than the air in Chun Lv until dusk. The crow croaked in the nest of branches. The white butterfly perched on the yellow sand bank in Tiantou, and returned to the boat rustling. Alas, they are geese and angelica. The river is silent, the lights of fishing villages are reflected everywhere in spring, and my heart is like running water, looking for someone to convey the songs of spring ◎ The voice of spring is noisy and polyphonic, and the wind in the treetops is just the background of the whole movement. Because Andhadhun can play the sound of seeds sprouting underground, the sound is curved and fast. The process of changing from a strong tadpole to a frog is complicated, and the sound of changing pupae into butterflies expressed by the flute cannot be confused. The sound of dragonfly preying on mosquitoes is fierce, but it is different from that of snakes. The sound of friction between clouds in the sky is subtle. It is accumulating energy, and dark clouds will tear the dark sky and shake the earth after lightning. Communication of nature marching into summer: 154200 Kong Xiangzhong, Science and Technology Information Bureau of Luobei County, Heilongjiang Province. The spring breeze is cold and gentle, just like a finger across the face. The wind is crying at night. I don't know when the river in the angry darkness smiled happily. Ducks on the river broke the sparkling lake. When I wake up, I hear the sound of spring singing in the branches, laughing by the river and walking along the sound of spring. Suddenly I found that I woke up from my dream and the resurrected soul was singing in the spring sky. Dreams are no longer far away, and hopes are sweet. It's beautiful. This is the sound of spring. Watching your news, I heard the sound of spring. In the depths of spring, a strange flower blooms, birds slide across the sky, green leaves grow slowly on the treetops, grass buds climb out of the soil, the sky is washed away by the sea, blue clouds are blown away by the spring breeze, the city changes color, and everything flows gently, filling my ears. Watching your news, I heard the sound of spring.

7. Modern poetry praising spring

The ice and snow melt,

The pace of spring is near again.

Everyone longs for spring,

Yearning for the apricot rain soaked in clothes,

Looking forward to blowing a cold breeze.

First, the small forest effect in cities.

Green again, my grove.

Ants and flying insects in the Woods

These humble lives come with spring.

Under the soil, I heard the sound of earthworm crawling.

Knock down the mud-sealed door with a soft head

I saw a flock of goats on the grass in the grove.

Waving his long beard and bleating.

Shook my youth and soul.

A black goat came to me leisurely.

Tears of happiness hung on his face.

Second, open the door of spring.

I hear birds chirping.

In the city, there are several spring birds.

They are afraid to go into town.

Just cheering and jumping outside the classroom.

They are as simple as farmers in the countryside.

Let me sprout a sense of closeness.

They are my friends.

Like a relative I met by chance.

They are looking for unknown bugs.

Make a friendly voice to one's companion

After school, I fell in love with birdsong.

In the debate about birds,

I pushed open the door of spring.

Third, this spring

My heart is at sixes and sevens this spring.

Think for a moment about some tombstones.

Think of my childhood for a while.

My heart is at sixes and sevens this spring.

Poetry in spring is written in spring.

My poems are the leaves of grass and crowns in spring.

This spring,

What else can I do?

Who else can I embrace spring and time with?

Rain passes through my chest.

A sound

Tick tock tick tock

Run down from a very high place

Like a long-haired girl shawl and a black waterfall.

Hurry up

That's why I became

In the endless rain curtain

A dizzy elf

I can't tell who it is.

That's really unstoppable.

desire

Raindrops are flying in the air.

Floating slowly in the sky.

Gather strength from

Untouched clouds

Infiltrate quietly

My broad chest

So my breasts fluctuate.

Stir up ripples

Flapping on the rocks of feelings

Wave after wave of breathing.

With a drop of rain

Moisten each other

A drop of rain like this.

Go deep into my heart

Mixed with my thoughts.

And then through the narrow space in my heart

Clean everything.

And a ray of sunshine

Seize the opportunity to travel through time and space

Reach my clear sky

8. Modern poetry describing spring

I can't forget the spring, the empty courtyard in the spring night, and the gentle wind singing and listening in my dream. Some people have gone far, and some people have returned to their hometown. If there is moonlight on my pillow, I won't sleep tonight, because I still have her beautiful image dancing in my heart. Whenever I look up at the blue sky and white clouds, my black eyes drift to the past. Every time I hug the night star, I want to shed a few tears under the lamp, but I am afraid that the tears will reflect yesterday's heartbreak and leave the warm and soft bed without knowing that spring is waiting. Love in spring, frost in autumn, flowers with bright windows, who are you thinking about? I have been crying and laughing secretly on the way to wake up from my dream, and I have slowly forgotten my heart to the candlelight or lonely hope I have forgotten in spring. First, the small forest in the city turned green. My humble life, ants and flying insects, came under the soil with spring. I heard the sound of earthworms crawling and knocked down the closed door of the soil with their soft heads. On the grass in the grove, I saw a group of goats waving their long beards and bleating, which shocked my youth and soul. A black goat came to me with tears of happiness on her face. Second, push open the door of spring and hear birds singing in the city. A few primrose birds were afraid to go into town, but they cheered outside the school. They are as simple as farmers in rural areas, which makes me feel close. They are my friends. It seems that they are relatives I met by chance. They are looking for unknown bugs and making friendly sounds to their peers outside school. I fell in love with the sound of birds. In the contention of birds, I pushed open the door of spring. This spring, this spring, my heart is in a mess. I think of some tombstones for a while and my childhood for a while. This spring, my heart is in a mess. Spring poetry has been full of spring poetry. My poems are spring grass leaves and crowns. What else can I do this spring? Who else can I embrace spring and time with? The rain passed through my chest. A voice dripped from a high place, like Rapunzel's shawl, and the black waterfall tightened the time. Holding me has become a dizzy soul in the endless rain, and I can't tell who is the real irresistible desire. Raindrops dance in the air and float slowly in the sky, and the accumulated strength quietly seeps into my broad chest from the simple clouds, so the waves in my chest arouse ripples and beat the emotional shore reef. Breathing waves and a drop of rain moisten each other. In this way, raindrops go deep into my heart, mix with my thoughts, and then wash everything through the narrow space in my heart. A ray of sunshine takes the opportunity to travel through time and reach my sunny sky. "Looking at a Snow in Spring" boarded the train bound for spring with the sword of the season, relentlessly opened the restless bud, and let the small hand that had been cracked for a winter stretch out to hold up the banner of hunting and chasing in spring. As long as a snow sets foot on the equator in spring, a fierce snow is precious. The dialogue between spring and snow flows freely in six directions. In fact, spring has nothing to do with a snow, but a sudden cold spring. Grab everyone's love and look up. The contact between heaven and earth is intense, purely along the slope of the season. Head-on is the last scene of waiting for "stepping on the threshold of spring". Snow and treetops outside the window look at endless branches and sigh, and mist drips into the yearning for spring. A bud quietly arched out of the frozen soil and knocked on the door of the earth. Free-roaming sparrows disappear into the cracked trunk of the ice and enjoy love. Light kites in the suburbs, sailing all the way to the territory of spring. The road is still muddy, and occasionally pedestrians raise their collars to shut out the cold, but the door is open in spring. It is sunny inside. At the weekend, I booked a kite and flew my son to a mountain top in the suburbs. The joy of embracing him for a winter inspired me to fly to a floating leaf in the distance. You come and I'll lie down next to my wife and kiss the warm Achnatherum splendens. I've been fidgeting all afternoon. I really want to take out my son's homework in his schoolbag and help him sweep it. Think of an old buffalo eating flowers in a building. Then the lawn called "Cleisthenes" like a shepherd boy, and the cows raised their hooves and sprayed beads to wake up the ears of spring by the river. Next to it are wild young crops in spring and thick leaves on the ridge of the field. Imagine, not long ago, it was the same old buffalo muttering to promote the progress of the season. An empty philosopher, holding hands and making various gestures, turns over the warm colors in the earth through the cold eyes of the season, which will be a cool classical figure. In Who Hunted the Feathers of Spring, the plowshare and the old farmer who were heavily inclined to muddy waves were urged to carry the last feather. After experiencing abundant vitality, they hid in the thick twilight of spring. Under the wings of the day, an elegant serenade quietly licked the sails sailing in the sea of four seasons. Who fell out of favor under the eaves of love after harvesting love? Boundless passion, in the space of steaming clouds in spring, quietly swimming a drop of clear tears. Vilen saw the dying light bathed in the temper of clouds. The fiery journey of controlling beautiful feathers with sea and sky was insurmountable, and then he raised his pious prayer flags and left with a wordless promise. Who hunts the feathers of spring but can't find the soaring sky to collect the feathers of emotional branches? I think. On a spring afternoon, there may be many things that will be boring to lie on the windowsill and look at the distant sky. The crowded downstairs is crowded with pedestrians in a hurry. They all looked serious and witnessed the individual actions of others. On the one hand, the clear sky, with lyrical pigeon feathers and whistle, glides unscrupulously between kites and breezes, casting vigorous shadow movements and choosing only irregular strokes and traces of thinking. Put up pigeons, bridge the distance with their own feathers, wait for a beam of sunshine, preferably for a long time, and then embrace the weekend. The car stomped wearily from the noise to the goal, and the boiling vilen was silent. In the spring when rape blossoms are in full bloom, a group of bees landed in the depths of the season as masters, lying smartly in the stamens, witnessing the wind flying and stretching from petals, exhaling the depression in their chests, and parked their comfort and ease outside the window on the way.