Urgent! urgent! urgent! ! ! I wrote a poem before, but when I picked it up today, the inspiration was no longer there.

Could you please correct the poem?

The spring rain ticks,

awakens the sleeping flowers;

The summer sun is hot,

burning clouds and colorful clouds;

The autumn wind dances,

It blows the cheeks of the maple leaves to shame;

The winter snow is flying,

There are plum blossoms in full bloom... .

Everything in the four seasons,

is in time,

but I,

leave behind the regrets of youth!