Poems for August Dedicated to the Wind

wind

The waves of the wind gave the leaves

The swaying of leaves startled the sea

The waves beat, the wind roars

The whimper of the reef, and the seagulls

Stomach tortured by survival and hunger

The wind has no chronicle, only heavy breathing.

Every inch of land he blows,

His name: Poplar, Willow, Maple

Bai Yang remembers that in spring he brings a green breath

Willow remembers the news that he brought water in summer

Fenglin also remembers that the gold in autumn is his shadow.

The bright moon towers up her far peak, and the winter is his hiding

cloak.

The wind actually has eyes too, his eyes are colorful

The nation he saw was as vivid as a painting

Inuit white translucent, teeth, eyelashes

And completely black, pupils, fur

Mongolians are very red, red into a Gesang flower

Turks like green, dark green, dark green, light green

fused together, unable to distinguish each other

The navy blue bodhisattva is placed on the mountain by the plateau

Daughter of the mountain, please tighten the brim

Vietnam, Cambodia, Malaysia are clay people

The potter makes the mold, just waiting for the furnace of the fire to burn

India is nostalgic, Japan is lonely, both are willing

Rice waves that turn into beige and are planted in the land of old times

And the Chinese, the purple dolls growing on the wisteria

The purple is mottled, the purple is beautiful, the purple is flawless

Sometimes the wind is gentle and moving.

Dandelion flying quietly on the hillside

The silent cloud on the field

Falling fruit, fluttering butterfly

And the corners of your clothes that were gently lifted that day

everything is like yesterday

Scattered by the wind, blown away, vanished in the heaven and earth

Even time has been blown away by the wind

leaving only a vague shadow

For my ambiguous imagination

Sometimes he was so melancholy.

On a rainy day

hear a mourning

Like a lone wolf living in the north all year round

Like a woman who has lived in a deep palace for a long time

Echoing cries, tragic reflections

On the glass flooded with yellow plums

If it is rainy night

You will also hear Chopin's nocturnes

Flowing on the keys of the grass

The wind is a musician

Continue to create sheet music

Fans and Air Conditioners

Can't imitate his notes

I can't imitate the swirling wanton flowing beauty

just stare

make some noise

The wind is as old as the sun and as old as life

He tirelessly transports those dreamlike new

life to thrive

He is my other father.

I was often ignored but always remembered

real father