In June, thunder rumbled in the dark clouds in the sky and showers swooped down.
The moist east wind swept across the empty fields and roared in the bamboo forests.
I don't know where to drill out clusters of flowers and dance happily on the grass.
Mom, I really think flowers are spent in underground schools.
They do their homework with the door closed. If they go out to play before school, the teacher will punish them for standing in the corner of the classroom.
When it rains, they have a holiday.
Branches in the Woods collide with each other, green leaves rustle in the strong wind, dark clouds in the sky clap their hands, and children skip out of the school gate, dressed in yellow, red and white.
Do you know that?/You know what? Mom, their home is in the sky. Where do the stars live?
Don't you see how much they want to go to heaven? You don't know why they left in such a hurry
Of course, I can guess who they raised their arms to: they also have a mother, just like I have a mother.
[Appreciation]
The original Bangla text of this article is a scientist in Children's Collection, and it is a fairy tale of beautiful flowers created by anthropomorphic methods. In this poem, Hua is compared to a pupil. They studied in an underground school when they were in Budd, which is consistent with Budd's situation. When the damp east wind blows the flutes in the field, they are competing to open and colorful, as if wearing yellow and white clothes. How to deal with "flower fading" is a difficult point. The poet is ingenious, subliming the scene of flowers dying into the reunion of children and mothers, showing a gratifying picture, which is amazing!