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On the pond, lotus leaves are floating around in the water against the breeze. Unconsciously, several people passed by. I don't know who said, "If only there were a few turtles." As if hearing his words, the water rippled and several turtles leaned out of the water.
There is nothing more exquisite than that turtle in the world. Turtles play in the water, sometimes pushing small fish aside and sticking their heads out of the water. After a while, the little turtles were tired of playing, so they floated on the water and let the water wash them away. To tell the truth, they are so cute, like handicrafts, people love them very much, but no one will touch them for fear of damaging them and ruining this beautiful artistic conception.
It was at this time that I began to pay attention to them.
The markings on the shell, the triangular head, the slender tail and the green limbs add one point if it is too long, and subtract one point if it is too short. It is so comfortable in the water, perhaps, this is leisure. Those four feet seem to have a lot of skin, and a small meat ball hangs down, which is very interesting. A kind of joy flooded into my heart and body.
On a sunny morning, wherever I go, it floats quietly on the water. I touched the water gently, and it looked scared. After a while, it timidly floated up from the bottom of the water. Then, seeing that there was no danger, it shrank into the shell and floated to other places.
The water at dusk is more beautiful. Water is golden. A red sun is in the water like a red plate. Now even the wind doesn't want to break the board. The turtles can ignore it. Once or twice, the red plate broke like a fire. Isn't this a beautiful picture? A piece of red cloth, a few beans, everything is beautiful.
Sometimes, a turtle will be looking for food, only to see it plunge into it. Haha, today's hard work was not in vain, and finally he caught a fish. Sometimes, several turtles lie prone on the ground and do nothing but bask in the sun. Sometimes, they are alone and may be scolded by their parents.
The tortoise is not a poem, nor a song. Maybe a poem. Indeed, this is a poem, a very long poem.