The distant mountains and near the water are all verdant,

Quietly searching,

Deep and long field paths,

Lush grass seedlings,

obscured the view.

Just like a long ribbon,

Looming

Floating in the green.

Lean down,

Today's demeanor seedlings,

It's a wet field path,

The smell of earth mixed with the scent of grass greets you.

There is nowhere to put the lifted feet,

Under my feet are grass one after another,

I think if it had life,

I am his disaster at this moment.

Although my feet are not too big,

Compared with the green grass,

That is the heaven above him,

I seemed to hear him.

It was a high-pitched, crisp sound,

It's not from man,

Or in the universe,

There is a wonderful sound.

I think

This voice is only heard by me,

His sense of beauty,

It should be unique in the world,

Extremely subtle and very euphemistic.

I can't bear to go on,

Gently close the peeled seedlings,

Slowly retreated,

I don't want others to find out,

There's a field trail here,

Because

Not everyone can hear the beautiful voice of Xiaocao.

Chapter 130 of "Ma Ping'an Poems": New style poems The path in the field is being hit by hand, please wait a moment,

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