Just like the ripples in spring, dreams are so warm and overflowing.
Notes before the text of a book or after the title of an article.
Youth, ignorance and innocence. Young dreams will sprout at that time.
Pointing to the stars in the sky, I looked up and asked my mother, what is that?
Stars.
Will I become them when I grow up?
Touching my little head, my mother smiled, and you will understand later.
At that time, what I dreamed, I must become them, radiant and charming.
When I was a child, my dreams were gorgeous.
As time goes by, the buds of dreams break ground and grow.
When I was at school, seeing an amiable teacher gave me another hope. I think, if I become a teacher in the future, will I be very happy? With a noble career, children can swim in the ocean of knowledge, so be cheerful and study hard.
The dream at that time was beautiful.
I never thought that when I saw that beautiful painting, my heart was so surprised, as if I had met a bosom friend and was moved. Wipe paper with shallow ink, and suddenly want to be a painter. Maybe I will hold the pen firmly from now on.
Graffiti is everywhere, white paper remembers bits and pieces, and arms are inlaid with beads of sweat and tears.
Draw a shady green forest to give spring vitality; Draw golden beaches to warm summer; Dye the maple leaves red and give the whispering pictures in the autumn wings. Is that a dream?
The dream at this time is happy.
I grew up with those innocent dreams. They are full of poetry and painting, clear and beautiful sincerity, and faint fragrance. The most sacred source of the soul is a beautiful dream. They grew up with me. One day, looking back on the past, it experienced wind and rain, moistened the rain and dew, bathed in sunshine, and grew into a strong little tree, bearing happiness and tears, and the light of dreams flashed in in my heart forever.
Dream, grow with me.