Memory is like a bird flying over the wilderness, flying in my mind again and again. The four seasons are like a turned-over book, recording yesterday, today and tomorrow. We will never forget the shadow of the old street, the old trees covered with locust trees, and the clear spring water by the river.
Once upon a time, this river originated at the foot of continuous mountains. The curved river keeps pouring in the sun, and the spring water gushing out from the depths of the ground runs with the river and sings all day long. Every time I didn't look at the scenery by the river and didn't have time to listen to the frogs, my heart rushed to the cool and sweet spring. Spring is a clear mind, like water. Summer is as soft as a lingering whisper, like a homesick dream.
Time is a long river of memory inlaid with beads, and a heart woven with moss. How many thoughtful women have left their dreams in the spring water under the moon and a string of footprints in endless acacia. Meet the person you love on the broken steps, hug the person you love by the Qingshui River, and listen to the tinkling sound of the spring in the silence. Spring water under the moon is like a lotus pond, reflecting the reunion in the sky and the homesickness on earth.
There is a spring in everyone's heart, and his voice has been obscured by daily troubles. This spring will always gush out from the depths of the heart at some point, with a quiet voice and bitter tears. Perhaps it is the warm spring of memory. Spring is at your feet and in your heart. Listening to the murmur of spring, you won't feel tired. Listening to the sound of spring, you won't get lost.
Where there is spring water, there is a place to summon life, and where there is spring water, there is a place of good hope. May this clear spring flow forever in the call of life and in the memory of life.