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I hit Jiangnan and walked through

The face of the season is like the blossoming of a lotus flower

The east wind does not come, and the catkins in March do not fly

Your heart is like a little lonely city

Just like the bluestone streets are late

The sound of trampling is not sounded, and the spring curtain of March is not opened

Your heart is a small window closed to it

My Dada's hooves are beautiful mistakes

I'm not a returner, I'm a passerby

"Mistake" - Zheng Chouyu"

The wind-blown moon on the cliff would be happier if there was no thought, maybe.

The sea flowers under the sea cliff rushed to the shore in white, and the face of the wild moon turned into the king of leisure, not only that, but the music emperor appeared next to him.

Ten years later, Wang Feng, who was standing with his hands in his hands, looked into the distance, how far away could it be? The wind on the sea cliff was still blowing wildly.

Wang Feng has become the author of the evil dragon hero at this moment, the evil dragon hero who has failed, writing a person's love letter in vain, wearing a fantasy musical heavenly horse, galloping in the earthly world where day and night are not distinguished.

In vain, she said. Everybody's resilient, not just you, (you don't have anything, she said in her heart).

Who is she? She has never loved me, but she has always lived in the most heartfelt place, she has become my guest, I have become her guest, and what is life?

How can there be no love between you and mine?

What is it? What is love? What is a novel that sings and weeps? What is a person? What are you? What am I?

What is the silence?what is the reason?what is life and death?what?what??

What is with what, a smile passes, after that, how to calculate a person's existence in heaven and earth-passerby.

...

Some people say that Zheng Chouyu is a "prodigal poet", but Zheng himself denies this claim. "A lot of people write about my work, and I thought it was rare to get to the heart of my writing. Because I grew up in the Anti-Japanese War, I was exposed to the suffering of China and the restless life of the people, and I wrote these into poems, and some people called me 'the prodigal son'.

In fact, what influenced my childhood and youth was more of the traditional spirit of benevolence. If you mention the height of the revolution, it becomes the spirit of a martyr and an assassin. This is one of the main connotations of my poems, which runs through from the beginning to the end, and has not changed. (To be continued......)