Green is smudged with ink.
month is covered by clouds.
Foggy day.
Darkness reigns over the night. Silent and silent.
A breeze is coming.
A faint smell of grass flows through the nose.
Let the heart quietly spring.
The wind blows through the treetops.
Ye danced merrily.
Jumping and churning among the branches.
If the lover whispers.
The scent of orange blossoms can be heard in the distance.
Drift away in the loneliness of the night.
Instantly full of luxury.
Spring is getting warmer, the flowers are about to bloom, and the grass is green.
Spring breeze in March.
It's like an oil paint in nature.
Quietly dress up the face of plants.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.
It was as if it had spread out overnight.
Colorful the north and south of the river.
A gust of spring breeze and a wisp of flowers.
A cup of tea, a book of books.
In front of the window, there was a distant flute.
It's as if you see your hand through the wind of the night.
Skimming my long hair.
Leave the warmth at bay.
A note of acacia sprouts among the buds.
In my heart, it becomes a poem.
The heart moves with the wind, and the wind helps the spring trip.
I hear you. The sound of the heart flower blooming.
I see it. A scorching spring.
Sprout and rise in the depths of the soul.
A persistent heart.
Seek in the sea of stars.
The deepest touch of blue.
In the pursuit of a life of reluctance.
Poetry and distance. 
Listen to the wind and wait for the flowers to bloom
On the way back to the earth in spring.
I hear you. The songs and laughter sung by the spring breeze.
I see it. The peach blossoms on the human face are flying.
Time is warm and the years are quiet.
Cherish the love you encounter.
Thanksgiving for the beauty of encounters.
When thousands of sails are over, I still wish my heart is still there.
The waves are not shocked, and the youth is as young as ever.