Appreciation of modern poems when oranges are ripe

The wechat circle is full of golden fruits.

year after year

There is a change at the end of the year

Or orange grove

Or golden fruit

Still the familiar smell.

Change is the trace of time.

Black hair turns white.

The skin is covered with layers of wrinkles.

What have the years left us? ......

Some people are still alive. It's dead.

Someone died; But it lives in

When the children who used to play walked through the orchard,

Now grown up.

The sweetness of love.

Now there are only memories.

The oranges are ripe.

This is the baptism of years.

The oranges are ripe.

Showed her loveliest side in a haughty manner.

But no one knows what it went through.

In that golden orange garden

Do you remember anything?

I still remember reading when I was a child.

Do you remember the first love letter you sent?

Do you remember stealing oranges when you were a child?

Remember the shy memories of youth photographed under the orange tree?

Now we are grown up.

Become silent.

An orange tree or that is an orange tree.

Now we are grown up.

Have your own family.

The orange tree is still the orange tree of that year.

But when we get old,

Do you remember the memories in the orange orchard?

When we are old

Do you remember your childhood friends?

When we are old

Do you remember your memories when you were young?

When we are old

Do you remember that familiar smell?

Sour and sweet

The oranges are ripe again. ...