I recited a poem praising youth to eight people.

The midsummer sun shines through the cracks in the canopy and falls on the boulevard of the campus, mottled and swaying. The kitten next to the second teaching point sang a song and many stories began to fall apart. The fountain in the campus has always demonstrated the power of joy, constantly spewing and nourishing the hearts of students. The air is filled with a faint feeling of parting, and the whole campus is covered with a layer of gray. This summer, the story of the wind has never stopped, and we are still young.

I was awakened by the first ray of sunshine in the morning, opened the window of my dormitory, felt the fresh air in the campus morning solemnly, simply adjusted my clothes, put on the bachelor's suit that I dreamed of four years ago, and walked quietly on the path leading to the library with an indescribable feeling of treating the fleeting time.

Four years, like a gust of wind, blew across the dusty earth, leaving its traces. To me, the student's name is like a kite with a broken line, flying to an invisible distance on the horizon, but my cheeks are silly in the direction where it flies away, laughing and crying, as if still immersed in its world, never giving up.

When shooting graduation photo, we stood in front of the library in uniform. At the moment when the camera rang, melodious youth was frozen. We jumped up, threw our hats into the air, and shouted and cheered wildly, as if this was what we were at first, true and unobtrusive.