1. From now on, I will no longer look up at the blue sky or look down at the white water, but only watch my steps carefully. I will step on the dirt and make deep footprints! "The long poem" Destruction "2. Swallows have gone, and there is a time to come again; Willow withered, there is a time to be green again; Peach blossoms have withered, but they bloom again. But, smart, tell me, why are our days gone forever? Someone stole them: who is that? Where is it hidden? They escaped by themselves: where are they now? 3. When washing their hands, the days pass by the basin; When eating, the days pass from the rice bowl; When I am silent, I will pass through my eyes. I realized that he had gone in a hurry, and when I reached out my hand to cover it, he passed by the covered hand again. When it was dark, I was lying in bed, and he quickly crossed me and flew away from my feet. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, it's another day that has slipped away. I cover my face and sigh. But the shadow of the new day began to flash with a sigh. 4. I don't know how many days they gave me; But my hands are getting empty. Counting silently, more than 8 thousand days have slipped away from me; Like a drop of water on the needle tip in the sea, my days are dripping in the stream of time, without sound or shadow. I can't help but burst into tears. 5. Go wherever you go, and come wherever you come; What's the hurry between going and coming? When I got up in the morning, two or three oblique suns shot into the hut. The sun has feet, and it has moved gently and quietly; I also follow the rotation blankly. So-when washing your hands, the days pass from the basin; When eating, the days pass from the rice bowl; When I am silent, I pass by my eyes. I felt that he was in a hurry. When I reached out to cover my arm, he passed by the covered hand again. When I was lying in bed at dark, he crossed me and flew away from my feet. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, it will be another day. I covered my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new day began to flash with a sigh. 6. What can I do in the world of thousands of households in the days when I am flying away? Only wandering, only rushing; In the rush of more than 8 thousand days, what is left except wandering? The past days, like smoke, were dispersed by the breeze, like mist, evaporated by Chu Yang; What traces do I leave? Have I ever left traces like gossamer? I came into this world naked, and will go back naked in a blink of an eye? But it can't be flat. Why do you have to go this time for nothing? You are clever, tell me, why are our days gone forever? 7, don't be sad, but god never shuts one door but he opens another. 8. Silence is a philosophy of life. When used properly, it is also an art.. 9, and flowers, oneself is not the protagonist, is still a kind of desolate. 1. It is impossible to study literature and be lazy to recite it, especially poetry. A liberal arts student in high school might as well recite 3 poems carefully instead of gulping down dates or skimming through ten poems.