Poems commemorating the death of loved ones

Poems commemorating the death of loved ones:

1, ten years of life and death are two boundless, unforgettable. Interpretation: You and I have said goodbye for ten years, and we can't help but miss it, but it's hard to face it after all.

2. It rains a lot during the Qingming Festival, and pedestrians on the road want to break their souls. Excuse me, where is the restaurant? The shepherd boy pointed to Xinghua Village. Interpretation: During the Qingming Festival in the south of the Yangtze River, the drizzle drifted one after another, and pedestrians on the road were down and out. Where can local people buy wine to drown their sorrows? The shepherd boy just smiled and pointed to Xinghuashan Village.

A long time ago, we joked that one of us would die, but suddenly, before my eyes, you left. Almost all your clothes have been given away, and your needlework has been sealed. I dare not look at it and others. Interpretation: In those days, we joked about what was behind us; Today is a painful memory. You are running out of clothes before your death, charity; Only the needle and thread rice is still kept and can't be opened.

4, the small stranger in the south of the city meets spring, just to see plum blossoms; Jade bone has been in spring for a long time, and ink marks are still locked between dust walls. Explanation: the spring breeze doesn't understand, blowing off the petals. The old man picked it up one by one and put it gently on the painting wall one by one. Cloudy eyes have no tears this time, there are still four years, or that season, that place. The 85-year-old man stood on crutches. Are those charming or vigorous flowers and plants old acquaintances fifty years ago? But the gentle and sad surprise was just a hurried dream.

5, the dream is broken for forty years, and the old willow in Shenyuan does not blow cotton. This body is a land of mountains and mountains, or a trace of death. Interpretation: The horn on the wall seems to be mourning, and Shen Yuan is no longer the original pavilion. Under that sad bridge, the spring water is still green. I have seen her beautiful silhouette here. She has been dead for more than forty years, and I never dream of seeing her. The willow in Shenyuan is as old as me. Even Liu Mian is gone. I'm seventy years old and dying. I still came here to mourn, and tears fell.