Please help me find prose poems praising youth (5 minutes, with background music)

You are all green, your head is full of colorful flowers, your face is as bright as a hundred flowers, and your fragrance is easy to get drunk. but who are you , then? You are a clear spring, and many poets praise you for your sweetness. You are a gorgeous rainbow, your passion, your turmoil, and how many philosophers miss you; You are the rising sun, your face, your youth, how many old people envy you; You are a clear sky. With you, you will have a bright future. but who are you , then? but who are you , then? You are youth. In the field of hope, I saw the light of youth, and I was lucky enough to fall into my arms ... I also have youth, so I hope ... my youth will be an all-inclusive book. Although it won't last long, the dense words printed on the yellow pages will benefit me for life. When I am old, I will read it occasionally, which will be the best testimony of my regretless youth.

My youth will be a morning star. Although it will one day become a meteor and disappear in the vast night sky, it will shine in its original place forever-from now to the future until it disappears ... Even at the moment of falling, it will still leave the last light to the night sky, to all those who wait and to all those who see its light.

My youth will be an auspicious cloud. Although it will turn into raindrops one day and fall from the sky to the ground. However, it will wander freely in the sky, not afraid of the blazing sun and the distance between heaven and earth. High in the sky, it can see the whole world. It won't be a frog in the well, but it can see everything-as long as it wants to see, even at the moment when it turns into rain, it is still satisfied.

My youth will also be a green leaf. Although it will wither one day, it sets off the beauty of safflower, brings green to the forest and decorates the spring for the world. When the autumn leaves are sleeping in the soil, I finally understand the reason for their withering: it is to pave the way for the next spring. Let youth turn into a pair of plump wings and take me soaring in the blue sky; Let youth turn into a boat and take me to the other side of the ideal; Let youth turn into a ray of warm sunshine, ignite the passion of dedication, sing the song of dedication ... dedication is not harsh on anyone, and it cannot grow into a towering tree as a pillar. It might as well be a grass that provides a little new green for spring. You can't embrace all rivers with a broad mind like the ocean, how can you not become a stream holding nectar for a long drought! My dedication should be like a torch, burning without regrets, and my true feelings will never die. My dedication should be like a clear spring, flowing for many years, regardless of fame and fortune. My dedication, more like an enduring ode, will always reverberate in the vast land of passion. Background: The three-point rain in spring bathes the bright sunshine in the Mediterranean. If you can't find qq 529352030 or: remember the traces of youth. All the endings have been written and all the tears have started, but suddenly I forgot what it was like. I read and reread with tears, but I have to admit that Youth is a sloppy book-Xi Murong's Youth. Who can tell me what youth is? Even if you are groping, it just disappears like a haze after sunset. Are the stars swaying in the wind and blue sky dim or bright? In the magnificent life, it is like a clear and clean stream, which has washed away more than ten years of childishness and set foot on another level indifferently. Looking back for a moment, do you still remember the short but classic fragment of A Farewell to Cambridge written by Nanhu? Ask! I can't ask my youth Youth, what an abstract word. Contains too much, ideals, feelings, rebellion, churning blood full of youthful impulses and jumps. And that crazy dream was gone in an instant, and I couldn't breathe because of the heavy blood. Ask? This is youth? Standing on the street with slightly confused eyes, looking at the bustling crowd and the "intellectuals" in the city, the most sensitive nerve endings in the brain were suddenly touched. Just like an ignorant teenager who went astray, he saw the bright road beckoning to him in the bright morning light. Ah! I was suddenly awakened. This is my youth! As bright as the winter sunshine. Thinking, youth has inadvertently crossed from silent eyes. Taking stock of youth: my happy primary school life, the six years that passed quickly, pushed my long but short youth to me. Youth, are you a poor man in rags or a rich man with jewels? Please tell me. Don't "hide half of her face behind her guitar", please let me lift your veil. The teacher told me that youth is the seed of ideal. If you sow well, it will grow into a towering tree in the future. My parents told me: Youth is a field, you can water it, and there will be a good harvest in the future. Finally, I found her. I am a song in your heart, a growing melody, written by yourself. This is what youth told me. Really. Happy music on the journey