The wind is blowing slowly,
The time is not too slow.
Fragrant and beautiful everywhere,
Flowers are blooming in sequence.
Youth has faded away,
There is no distance without confusion.
The flower season is no longer impulsive, and
passes the age of fantasy.
How can this life be wasted,
It’s too late.
Life is no longer a miracle, and
can’t wait for the flowering period now.
Once Poems,
Buried in my heart.
If the ancient well can’t stir up ripples,
indulge in memories like this.