A beautiful poem describing the withering of flowers

A beautiful poem about flower withering 1. A sentence describing the withering of flowers.

Apricot flowers are scattered all over the sky, flying and landing, leaving purples all over the ground, so gorgeous. Follow the beautiful dance steps and return to the dust.

Where the wind passed, countless petals floated in the air, swaying, one after another, holding a wisp of agarwood, which made people feel deeply intoxicated.

Pears are everywhere, and the blown petals fly in the air for a long time, blowing on the face, and the faint fragrance is intoxicating and confusing-"Laughing Flowers: After Poison Doctors Abandon"

Roses were raised at home. After a few days, in the dead of night, I heard the sound of flowers falling. At first, it was a tentative "bang", like a drop of rain hitting the table. Then, with a click, countless butterflies were shot down and fell from the sky.

That night was really quiet. Listening to your breath is like listening to the ebb and flow of the tide. The whole person was hung in the air by the sound of falling flowers, with his ears pointed, and he was shocked, as if he were listening to a brewing conspiracy.

Get up early and lie there with a table full of fallen flowers, safe and quiet. I can't believe it had such a thrilling night.

Rose petals are still alive even if they fall; There is also a greasy texture, luster and warmth of satin. I don't believe it at all. This is the corpse of a flower, and my mother always refuses to clean it up. Watching them lie there freely from the crowded branches seems to have a unique and independent beauty, not surrounded by branches.

The world seems to hear the sound of falling flowers every day.

Like cherry blossoms, pear blossoms and peach blossoms, I never regard their withering as a kind of death. They just realized that they used to be angels with wings in the call of the wind, so they tried to break free from the branches, tried to fly and flew out gently. ...

However, there is a flower that scares me. It doesn't ask questions without warning, and the whole flower rolls down recklessly and irresponsibly without warning. It's really scary. I once raised a pot of camellia, which was such a shocking way to die. I was frightened, and I was afraid of camellia from now on. Afraid of its extreme and heroic, and the tragic suicide. I don't know how such a gentle and thoughtful tea tree can produce such tragic flowers.

Speaking of it, I still like small daisies in the countryside. They bloom quietly, thanking you implicitly. Its withering is not only a storm, but it still snuggles up to the receptacle quietly and warmly, getting thinner and haggard bit by bit, and then growing old with the whole season in the bleak winter.

-"Liu Liran's voice of falling flowers and falling mud"

Hope useful to you

2. Who can help me find a sad sentence or poem about flowers, preferably flowers wither?

Flowers from Shui Piao to water, one kind of lovesickness, two places of leisure. There is no way to eliminate this situation, only frown and mind. Li Qingzhao, a piece of plum

The wind has stopped the dust, the fragrant flowers have blossomed, and I am tired of combing my hair at night. Things are people, not everything. When you want to talk, your tears will flow first.

If you like such sad sentences, I suggest you look at Li Qingzhao's ci. She likes flowers, and the words written in her later years have a sad feeling, and there are flowers, and the words are exquisite and unique.