A few poems about rain
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Walking in the rain: Delighted to go out in the rain, light-hearted with a flower umbrella overhead； From afar, the tall buildings are seen through misty haze; up close, all things appear soaked in water ； The wet road is as wide as a mirror; pedestrians’ rain gear comes in a variety of colors ； Plants, flowers, and trees come to life; occasionally, birds sing ； The sound of water dripping gently on the river’s surface, traffic lights flashing on the road ； The flow of vehicles continues onward, showcasing the prosperity of the era ； I recall walking in the rain during my student days, covering a distance of eight li ； It was dark outside when I left in the morning; by the time I got home, the lights were already on ； The village is hidden among the dense woods; the countryside’s four seasons constitute its beauty ； The country paths are winding; the rubber shoes have patches on their soles ； Pulling feet and covering them as one walks through the mud; mud and water reach up to the halfway point of the chest shirt ； When the tung oil-coated umbrella is opened, it’s fresh; staying wet doesn’t cause any feeling of cold ； However, decades have passed since then; it seems like just the blink of an eye ； The past is vividly before my eyes; all the joys and sorrows of life have been experienced ； Today, the country is prosperous and its people strong, with a leading position in the world ； Constant change becomes a reality, and the overall picture of humanities transforms completely ； No worries about food, clothing, shelter, or transportation – modern life offers endless advantages ； Usually, I spend time online and enjoy every day happily!
This post was last edited by ylb913 on 2015-7-19 at 16:30. Good rain knows its season; it comes in spring； It slips into the night with the wind, moistening all things silently. I don’t wake up from spring slumber; birds singing can be heard everywhere ； The sound of wind and rain through the night; how many flowers have fallen?
On Qingming Festival, the rain falls in torrents; those on the roads are filled with sorrow. I ask where I can find a tavern, and the shepherd boy points afar to Apricot Flower Village.
The continuous rain makes one unaware of the passing of spring; it’s only when the weather clears that one realizes how deep summer has become. Speaking of which, I’m not on the same wavelength as the original poster – why do I keep thinking about the head of the Literary Federation for no reason? ;P Just joking :P
On this day last year, within these gates, human faces and peach blossoms shone in vibrant red together; the person whose face I once saw is now nowhere to be found, yet the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze!
Rainy weather: Raindrops fall as one strolls in the pavilion, lost in deep thoughts that remain lingering； Now I see no trace of you; the rain is not yet heavy, yet my heart longs deeply ； I wonder where the tears of children fall – there, it is where we share the rain together ； Everywhere in the world, one’s presence can be seen; it’s just that thoughts of you arise once again.
You ask when I’ll return, but there’s no set date; the night rain in the Bashan Mountains fills the autumn ponds； When shall we sit by the lamp together by the western window, and talk about the rainy nights in the Bashan Mountains?
The tree is adorned like jade, with countless branches hanging down like green ribbons. I wonder who shaped these delicate leaves; the spring breeze in February is like scissors
Don’t pay attention to the sound of wind through the trees; why not chant and stroll slowly? A bamboo staff and straw sandals are lighter than a horse; who fears? Let life go on amidst the mist and rain. The brisk spring breeze awakens me from my drunkenness; it’s a bit cold, yet the slanting sunlight on the mountain tops greets me. Looking back at the desolate place I once was, I return – with neither wind nor rain, nor sunshine.
Good poems that meet the poster’s criteria; it would be even better if they have a source.
A light rain falls on the streets, gentle as butter; from afar the grass appears green, but up close it’s not there. This is truly the best time of spring, far surpassing the picturesque willows lining the imperial capital