初春三月,阳光打在窗户上,室内弥漫着温暖的气息。一缕透明的光线斜斜照在我的书桌,几本诗集凌乱在书桌一角张望,像是那些深宫大院里的美人儿,终日守望她们心中的君王来临幸。我却不是一个很好的君王,我的诗歌,我的宠爱,都在网络里,有电的日子,我是很少宠幸案头上这些集子的。其实,我对诗歌的热爱是无法用行为来判断的。因为那是骨子里的东西,是与生俱来的宿命,只是,它在我漫长的前半生里沉睡,或者是养精蓄锐,只等一个合适的机会,一跃而出, Early spring in March, the sun hit the window, the room filled with warm atmosphere. A ray of transparent light diagonally shone on my desk, with a few poems scattered around the corner of the desk, like the beauties in the courtyard of the deep palace, who kept watching the hearts of their kings all the day. I am not a very good kings, my poetry, my favorite, are in the network, there are days of electricity, I am very little favoritism these collections. In fact, my love for poetry can not be judged by my behavior. Because that is the bones of things, is born fate, but it is in my long first half asleep, or recharge your batteries, only waiting for a suitable opportunity to jumped out,