山花 

                    开在晨曦的雾里 

                    美的让人窒息。 

                    小路 

                    躺在大地的怀里 

                    伸着半蜷的身躯。 

                    远方的林 

                    拦住了视线， 

                    我低下头， 

                    看着自由的草儿， 

                    黄了又绿。 

                    是谁把寒冷的冬天 

                    交给春， 

                    把生机点燃， 

                    又是谁 

                    把燃烧交给了夏 

                    把烈火孕育。 

                    秋天的收获， 

                    不是幻想，

                    谁愿把果实 

                    烤成残垣废墟。 

                    冬天又来了，

                    季节在忙着采集 

                    活着的种子， 

                    把它冻藏于我的诗里。 

                    春天再来时， 

                    会在你的心里， 

                    待鲜花烂漫。 

                    那时， 

                    我己经死去。 

                    也许．．．．．．

                    山花没有告诉我，

                    你的踪迹。