Imitate the forest in front of the poetry school

We listened to the soft breath of green leaves, we listened to the young bamboo shoots coming out of the ground silently, we listened to the songs of larks falling from the leaves, and we listened to the crisp and charming songs of ants. I like to write poetry in the forest, and you like to conceive prose in the forest; You appreciate the harmonious rhythm in my poems, and I appreciate the charm contained in your prose. We often pick baskets of mushrooms in the Woods and send delicious food to rabbits raised by biota; We often catch butterflies in the Woods and provide beautiful specimens for our laboratory.

I saw the grass on the roadside, reflecting the light against the sunrise, full of vitality and joy. Those withered leaves that have fallen to the ground are hidden among the grass leaves, like playing hide-and-seek, flickering, and the grass leaves play with the fallen leaves. . . . The grass in the sun enjoys the warmth given by the sun. Naughty trees covered some blades of grass, and the covered blades swayed anxiously from side to side, trying to explore the sun. When the sun saw it, it turned its face to the naughty tree and embraced the anxious blade of grass with warm sunshine. Suddenly, the sunshine wrapped around me and the warmth rose from my heart. I felt the warmth of the cold morning sun. I know it is the love of the sun, the love of the grass and the love of the fallen leaves that keep me warm.