Prose poem: The Pouring out of the Spring Rain (original)
Author: Zhao Fengbao
The spring rains of March poured in. It was raining, and there was a pleasant ticking sound, but I missed listening.
But I can only face the flowing stream and sigh with the sound of babbling water.
The spring rain of March, absolutely, penetrates the scenery of the soul and pours out the charm of spring.
Stretch out your hands and hold the crystal raindrops that seem to be extremely heavy. Moreover, the glitter is dazzling. That good mood, hot, that vision in the spring.
Those past and past, just between the fingers quietly passed, picking a seed of hope, let the spring rain, moisturize, sprout, stretch out the tender green posture.
Let me, not yet an old body, full of spring sunshine, imagination, the first love song, awaken the wilderness.
In my joy and joy, you are the strings that beat in my heart, playing the melody of early spring.
It is just like the little bits and pieces of spring rain that let me cultivate the hope of spring, and I can't stand it, and I am sinking halfway.
In order to have a good harvest in sight, we must also sweat and work hard. Laziness, absolutely no gain.
For that faith, we must not give up our self-esteem and hardship. As a result, my efforts have been rewarded.
No matter whether the spring rain is crisp or wet, it must be firmly grasped. It's like using hieroglyphs to form a beautiful poem, and eventually you will find the scattered duckweed...
