In the community garden,
Only asparagus and holly,
Quietly added green to this season.
also
It is only presented in a dark green posture.
finally
There is still a lack of delicate vitality,
Not so fragrant,
Without the color of warm heart.
So,
I planted the secret in the soil,
Half of them are in the pipeline,
Half is growth.
It takes hope as its seed,
Nourish with petals,
In constant enlightenment, agarwood is born.
Just waiting for the dew of the spring rain,
Make-up.
Go on a spring date.
At that time,
You germinated,
I am a pen and ink farmer.
You're in the bud,
I wrote several chapters.
You smell sweet everywhere,
My literary garden is shallow and fragrant.