Love (Taiwan Province Province, China) and you are the quietest and gentlest flower I have seen recently. Just look at the lotus. I like watching you rise from the water with a blue oil umbrella. I gently threw a stone at the center of the pond, and your face turned red. A frightened waterfowl flew over the willow branches on the other side like a flame. If you come closer, you can hear water droplets rolling in your palm. You are the quietest sunset cicada in the noisy lotus pond, and your voice is still like yours. Lonely When I was alone in the crowd, I left and stopped to wait for you. I whispered a favorite poem, which originated from my love for a girl. At that time, I compared her to a lotus flower, a lotus flower in summer, dancing on the lake in summer in a white skirt. At that time, I only knew a few words of this poem: Lotus is noisy, and you are my closest, quietest and gentlest flower ... I gently threw a stone at the heart of the pool, and your face turned red. It is these words that attract me. From then on, I compared her to the nearest flower in the lotus. I picked this little poem, put it in a letter sent to her, and gave it to her with full thoughts. At that time, expectations and joy for fish prevailed. I know she must have smiled the moment she received it, but I don't know if his face was red with surprise. I can still imagine her smiling, just like a naughty little warbler in summer, standing uneasily on a high branch, swinging a long skirt as white as a cloud and a dancing lotus flower. She is not the quietest and gentlest person in this world. She must belong to that summer, she must belong to that beautiful and exquisite town, and she must be full of my elegant and exquisite feelings at that time. In the long summer, will the nearest lotus look at me from a distance? With her most fascinated eyes, with her most helpless dance, with her most quiet and gentle waiting like a lotus. Sunset, cicada singing ... just like your loneliness in the crowd, you were supposed to be the gentlest smile that summer, and the rest, after I left, turned into worry. It's not far away across Qian Shan, but it's enough to make you and me unfamiliar. Today, the fate of the past is assumed, with unrestrained melancholy and stagnation, with unparalleled love and sadness, with another hot summer, with you still blooming in that small town several years later ... Time has passed, and this little poem is still there. In which summer was love written? Now, the lotus is also in full bloom. She still has her beautiful youth, her delicate petals and her watery tenderness. She will always belong to that summer, and my summer belongs to you ... Anyway, this little poem is still there, and whenever I read it, I will think of you. This life must belong to you. No matter spring and autumn or winter and summer, this little poem will always bloom in your midsummer, in your white dress, in your gentle smile, in your colorful years, in your distant dreams, in your unknown future and in my sincere wishes. ...
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