Chapter 712: Beauty that makes people jealous

Beauty that makes people jealous

February 19: Beauty that makes people jealous

February, Wind ah. Rain's spirit; Rain ah, Wind ah, Rain's spirit; Wind and Rain ah, the spirit of heaven and earth's dreamlike, in people's unintentional moment, then brought spring to the world. Facing February's spring scenery, there is a Classic of Poetry person singing-----------

"Oh

Brightness day swallow will stand on these

on the treetop of the house corner

Sing ah

Sing ah

in the swallow's singing voice

The days will go forward day by day.........

Actually, the swallow simply does not sing, those days will also go forward day by day. Please forgive, that is the Classic of Poetry person speaking nonsense. We still return to the days and walk forward slowly.

Because, we love spring's flowers more than love winter's rain and snow. Only we dislike spring being too short, just as we dislike that too short childhood, too short youth, too short love, too short life, too short……

This spring, that is the spring before my eyes, I still like it very much. I not only like the early-blooming crabapple, branch by branch red gorgeous, they are beautiful ah, fragrant ah; truly makes people jealous.

Of course, in this early spring time, beauty ah, fragrant's not only those early-blooming crabapple, but also those small shrubs by the river, those plantain grasses by the road, those wild roses, also in the small raindrops, Stillness Stillness's, beauty makes people envious..........

Because, I have long known, these small plants, like to sprout small white flowers; in the face of time and years, no matter how they are trampled, they always continue living, and also beautiful, never betray the land.

February, the things around are truly beautiful ah! Who can stop their beauty? Because they are brought by time. Who else can stop time?

February, I still write Classic of Poetry in a certain corner of the world, in the depths of time, like a bird flying across the sky, hanging loneliness on the edge of white clouds, the sky left no trace of wings......................

February, I say to myself: what matters is to fly over....................