(Prose poem) The boat drifts to the other shore
(1)
It is the whispering swallows that bring it, and it is the shepherd boy's flute that calls it.
The wind in March, unable to bear the loneliness of winter, secretly hides itself in the transparent dress of spring, and arrives in a beautiful way. She is very romantic and playful, sometimes hanging on a naughty child's kite, sometimes swinging among the light willow branches; when you reach out to touch her, inadvertently, she slides towards the old man's smiling brow, In the girl's gazing eyes...
The wind in March is as gentle as a lover's whispers,
The wind in March is as gentle as a trickling stream.
The March wind is up to you to chase and chase away, but you can never hold back her flowing melody or follow its erratic trail. But you can truly appreciate its bright dream and soothe her soft breath.
Isn’t it?
The spring water full of pride has risen.
The bees and butterflies flew away in the sunshine.