Rewrite an ancient poem describing spring into prose (500 words) (an ancient poem in grade one or grade two)

Spring Tour of Qiantang River-Jiating West, Baijuyi Gushan Temple North, the water level starts at the beginning, and the cloud feet are low. Several early orioles raced to the sunny tree, and their new swallows were carrying mud in their nests. Colorful spring flowers will gradually fascinate people's eyes, and shallow spring grass can barely cover the horseshoe. I love the lack of eastward travel of the lake and the white sand embankment under the shade of green trees. Rewrite prose: After a plate of spring rolls, I scrambled eggs with two Toona sinensis, and Yuan Zhen and I drank wine separately. Taking advantage of the strong wine, we went to Gushan Temple. The steps are diffuse, the dirt road is slippery, and the crispy taste that has been slightly smoked in the air is more intense. Looking up, Gushan Temple is close at hand. A solemn Brahma Buddha sound floated in, which suddenly made my heart feel a little solemn. But Yuan, who didn't like Amithofo, pulled me to the path leading to Jiating. Xizi Lake, for thousands of years, has always been like a passionate and poetic girl with infinite springs in her eyes. Jia Ting is on the West Lake, like an affectionate scholar, guarding his lover, the West Lake. On this day, it is early spring weather, the clouds are low in color and shallow in shadow, and a little roll is lazily scattered at the end of the day. The waves of calligraphy are as high and ordinary as the low clouds in the distance. Taking a rest in the wooden fence of Jiating, looking at the poplar, willow and apricot trees in the west of the pavilion from a distance, as well as the near and tall yellow-green miscellaneous trees and the delicate flowers and plants that fill the gap between this tree and that tree, I felt a little drunk. I couldn't stand the room, so I held the carved column in the pavilion. At this time, several orioles who left the nest early screamed and fought, chased them out of the Woods and disappeared in a blink of an eye. Looking back at the north of the pavilion, there is a farmhouse. Some swallows who may live there are singing on the eaves of the pavilion, with pieces of fresh soil in their mouths. The east side of the pavilion is even more intoxicating: there are messy flowers and high flowers, which make our eyes gradually confused. A brisk horse came from the flowers, and the grass on the ground was so shallow that it drowned the horseshoes. Looking up at the West Lake in the distance, Yang Yiyi and Baisha are really good places for spring. In the face of this situation, the lofty poetic interest in my heart is like the spring tide in Qiantang River, surging and overwhelming, and suddenly generate comes out.