"There must be injustice and sadness in the world, but through verse, grievance and sadness can be converted." "Chiang Hsun once said so. Reading poetry is like a process of digesting sadness, leaving a monologue for life, every week this time, I long for you to leave a time for yourself, the absence of the reality of the turmoil, women fans only read poems for you.

I used it to fight the cold.
The black leather gloves she put on the table.
Cover the first letter.
Just to make love come full

No phonetic symbols.
We can only read it in silence.
She picks up the gloves on the table.
Let Love Hide
and put it on my cold hand
Let love hide in the glove

--"gloves and Love"

This time the distinction is indeed called permanent
You shed tears behind your back
And hearty laugh behind your back
Inadvertently went through again
Pingdong East Haven not old bridge
No more, no more, no more.
We can't grow old together anymore.
Carrying you in the rain
Dancing behind your back and spending your money
Standing under a tree behind your back
No, why is it so happy?
Only when you are happy can you be sure
You will never blame me again
Carrying your sadness behind your back
Sadness, my happiness.

--As of dancing/Xiayu behind your back

I just want to know
Whether your city is the same as mine
There's a three-fourths wind and snow
And One-fourth of the rain

Maybe it never was.
A Fan that belongs to us
I'll stamp a red fingerprint.
Keep on going tomorrow
Received today's withdrawal

There's no way to your address

--Lin Wanyu, I just want to know.

We write and write but live.
No need to list, your body is more bright than the manuscript
Hotter than summer. There's no need to look
The faces of those who cannot see,
We live, and life is like a lover's touch
Rain, wet our pens.

At this moment the narrative is excused
That is, playing horses, diving, watching the moon and eating watermelons
And the lyric represents us.
Like the Oriental salute: they quietly broke off
A piece of jade leaves of a pomegranate.

We bloom and drive faster than a small train,
They walked hand in hand,
At the five-lane railway, they put the railing down.
They say: slow, slow,
Oh I've got the hint, but the scroll
The horse always in the rivers.

A little lighter, a little lighter,
Pay tribute to those who live and are living.
Pay tribute to the small eggplant raised in the farmers ' farm.
Oh, hail your bicycle in the rain
It is happy.

Don't get cold, good life
We have to pay for fee.
The rain stops, you might as well count our stamens.
How many worlds are there?
How many people have been silenced.
I would like to hear the true cicada at this moment.

--Liao Wei "We write, write but life"

If you've been to an unexpected paradise
Will understand that hell exists.
Everything goes hand in hand, climbing each other.
The pillow is not all enemies.
Not all lovers on the shoulder
The song of the distant Conch
It's always been metaphors unknown.

--Lu "grey scale"

in heaven, there is always hell. Happy, all want to thank once sad. Learn to love, with people who do not love you.