Pupils write their own poems in summer.

The memory of summer comes to me gently, just like a meteor across the night sky. Fluorescent accompanied my bride to leave in a flash. Maybe I will never be remembered. Maybe I soon forgot each other's memories, as if the rain had fallen on the beach. Debris in the night is soaked in a beautiful lake or burned to ashes in the blue sky. I always see this land and my companions in front of my eyes. Maybe they're still wondering who died. I walked softly. Like the wind, it never lingers and disappears in the updated wind. The wind's long-cherished wish is to sail back. In the hot summer, the wind blows the green fan of leaves, and the young lady standing on the beach sends the folded paper boat to the distant sea. In the autumn, the wind accompanied the lonely scarecrow and sent out the invitation of red leaves. Festival lanterns are full of joy. In the cold winter, the wind stayed in the cradle of mother Yun, cut her good wishes into snow-white business cards and sent them to the Spring Garden.