A poem about sunlight passing through leaves.

1. The sunshine poem scattered among the leaves has sunlight passing through the branches and leaves, just reflecting a little golden light and projecting it on the grass in the forest, and together with the shade under the tree, it builds a happy paradise for children.

Sunlight was filtered by layers of leaves and leaked to him, turning into a faint, round and gently swaying halo.

The sky is as blue as washing, and the bright sunshine shoots down from the dense gaps of pine needles, forming a thick beam of light, which makes the tree-lined photos with mist like gauze clear.

The morning glow faces the sun, revealing a red face. In an instant, ten thousand golden lights dyed the water surface with a layer of carmine through the treetops.

The warm sunshine, through the dense trees and leaves, turned into golden dots.

Brilliant sunshine permeates through the gaps between leaves, through the fog in the morning, and continuously spreads all over the campus.

2. The sunshine poem scattered among the leaves has sunlight penetrating through the branches and leaves, just enough to copy a little golden light and project it on the grass in the forest, together with the shade under the tree, to build a happy paradise for the children.

Sunlight was filtered by layers of leaves and leaked to him, turning into a faint, round and gently swaying halo. The sky is as blue as washing, and the bright sunshine shoots down from the dense gaps of pine needles, forming a thick beam of light, which makes the tree-lined photos with mist like gauze clear.

The morning glow faces the sun, revealing a red face. In an instant, ten thousand golden lights dyed the water surface with a layer of carmine through the treetops. The warm sunshine, through the dense trees and leaves, turned into golden dots.

Brilliant sunshine permeates through the gaps between leaves, through the fog in the morning, and continuously spreads all over the campus.

3. Poems describing the sunlight passing through the window sill

The sun sets slowly.

Be lightly covered with leaves

There are spots all over the floor.

How do the shadows of two people hold hands?

So as not to be confused by noise.

Don't want the grass to turn green.

That kind of happiness should belong to black and white

Old memories

Much like an old yellow photo.

A diary full of regrets

I'm used to it now

I am used to reading cicadas in midsummer.

There is an acacia tree in that diary.

Two names are engraved on the tree.

There is also a pure commitment.

The sun shines on the windowsill.

Sunburn warms the memory.