The whole dreary winter was awakened by the sound of thunder.
Everything began to sprout, dreams were breeding, hopes were growing, and the empty wilderness grew a sprout of life.
I heard the howl of the cow, like the prayer of the stars and moons at night. In the land where the smell of manure is wafting, seeds are sown into the fertile land.
Spring is a season of sowing and a season of intoxication.
Cattle and sheep dot the hillside, like stars in the night sky, the old people in the village no longer wear cotton jackets, closed doors, but all come to the village entrance, talking about the beauty and death of this season.
Life and death are eternal topics of people, and all joy ripples with a breeze-like harmony.
In March, the willows begin to flutter like dancing butterflies, and if you stop, the willows will kiss your lips tenderly, and the flowing water will sing a cheerful song for you.
The trees are full of shameful flowers, white like snowflakes in winter, like Grandpa's white beard, every turquoise branch is shaking with the breath of life, and the swallows in the distance have returned from afar with enthusiasm, bringing the gentle and peaceful atmosphere of the south.
Everyone's heart burns with the flame of love, warming every corner of the world.
No more death from war, everyone will die in peace, that will be our greatest dream, a child in war.
So do I, with love, embracing the world.