Yu Xiuhua's poems about happiness.
The Night Before Mid-Autumn Festival On the roundest night when the thin moon is getting rounder and rounder, I don't want to take a glass of wine and drink it into thick frost in a foreign land to cover my eyes. My thoughts are farther than those of Song Ci. I gently read the nursery rhymes in the country but dare not say to the moon-"thousands of miles away."
Some feathers and some dead leaves in Autumn fall into your arms like a group of unforgettable memories. Yellow spells and moonlight are led by fluttering leaves, shaking my lonely lamp in autumn night, and happiness is often waiting not far away according to the snow.
The ears of wheat kept nodding to thank me. Standing in the autumn field, I listened to a group of crickets singing hymns. This poem comes from gold. Happiness is born in the depths of fertile soil. I bent my waist into a bow and shot an arrow into the golden future.