1. Garden Poetry

Garden Poetry

in the corner of his garden, there's a patch he used to keep

All to himself, to allow nature to creep

There are no trimmed edges

or prim, proper hedges

He left his earth still and alone

p>

Allowed the forces of nature to roam

He said that you don't always have to be tidy and neat

Just watch the beauty of opportunity grow at your feet

He said just watch the earth produce its own glory

And I watched. and held on to his story

My grandad was right

Add water and light

Behold the sight

There are poppies and flowering weeds

Buttercups and oat colored reeds

Daisies gingerly lift their heads

Dandelions roar from muddy beds

Purple thistles and strange grasses < /p>

Colors that alight and ignite masses

Dark ferns and heathers

Dandelion clock feathers

Birds foot trefoil, a four leafed clover

p>

My grandad's story is not over

He may have gone, I may have cried

But the beauty he predicted never died 2. Sentences describing European courtyards should be beautiful

1. It was a clear autumn morning, and the morning sun shone peacefully through the tawny trees and the still green fields. I walked forward to the lawn and looked up at the front of the building. This is a three-story house. Although it is quite large, it does not feel grand in proportion. It is a gentleman's residence, not a nobleman's residence. The battlements surrounding the top make the whole building look unique. The gray front was highlighted by a rook's nest at the back. Its occupant was croaking in the side room, flying over the lawn and garden, and landed on a large grassy area. A low hedge separated the lawn from the garden. The lawn was lined with rows of huge old thorn bushes, strong and gnarled, as big as oak trees, which at once explained the etymology of the house's name. Farther away are hills. It is not as tall or steep as the mountains around Lowood, nor is it as much of an isolation barrier as they are. But the hills were very quiet, embracing Thornfield and giving it a quietness I had not expected in the bustle of Millcote. A small village is scattered on the side of a hill, with rooftops blending in with the trees. The district church stands near Thornfield, its ancient bell tower overlooking the mound between the house and the gate.

2. I leaned on the battlements and looked down, and saw that the ground spread out like a map, with fresh velvet lawns tightly surrounding the gray homestead of the building; on a field about the same size as a park , ancient trees are dotted here and there; the dark brown withered woods are clearly separated by a path, which is covered with moss and looks greener than the trees with leaves; the church at the door, the road and the quiet hills are all lying in the autumn In the sun; the peaceful sky on the horizon is azure mixed with marble-like pearly white. There was nothing extraordinary about the scenery, but everything seemed pleasing to the eye. When I turned around and passed the sunroof again, I could barely see my way down the escalator.

Compared with the blue sky I had just looked up at, compared with the sunlit landscape of woods, pastures and green hills with Thornfield House at its core that I had surveyed with interest, this attic was as dark as a tomb. .

3. The ground is hard, the air is quiet, and the road ditches are lonely. I walked very fast, and did not slow down until my whole body was warm, appreciating and savoring the joys contained in this scene. It was three o'clock, and when I passed the bell tower, the church bell was ringing. The charm of this moment lies in the fact that the sky is getting dark, the setting sun is low, and the sunlight is pale. I was walking on a lane a mile outside Thornfield. In summer, wild roses bloom here; in autumn, nuts and black strawberries abound; even now, there are still coral-colored treasures of rose hips and hawthorn berries. But the greatest joy of winter lies in the extreme silence and tranquility of the bare trees. When the breeze blows, there is no sound here, because there is not a holly branch or an evergreen tree that can make a whistling sound. The leafless hawthorn and hazel bushes were as silent as the worn white stones in the middle of the path. On both sides of the path. There were only fields in the distance, but no cattle grazing. The little tawny bird that occasionally fiddles with the hedge looks like a scattered dead leaf that has been forgotten to fall.

4. The bright midsummer sun shines over England. At that time, it was rare for the weather to be sunny and clear for several days, or even a day and a half, to visit our island country surrounded by waves. It was as if the lingering Italian weather had drifted in from the south, like a flock of brilliant migratory birds, landing on the cliffs of England to rest. The hay has been put in, and the fields around Thornfield have been harvested and appear green. The road was as white as if it had been baked, and the trees were lush and lush. The dense leaves of the hedges and woods formed a sharp contrast with the golden color of the harvested grass between them.

5. Entered the orchard. There is no corner of the garden more secluded, more Eden-like. The place is lush with trees and flowers, and is separated from the yard by a high wall on one side; on the other side a path covered with beech trees separates it from the lawn like a barrier. At the bottom is a low hedge, which is the only boundary between it and the lonely fields. A winding path leads to the hedge. There were laurel trees growing on the roadside, and at the end of the road was a huge horse chestnut tree with a row of seats around its base. You can wander here without being seen. At this moment when the jade dew is slowly falling, quietly, and the night is getting darker, I feel as if I will wander in this shadow forever.