Summer

Outside the window, the green trees, the raindrops are on the leaves.

The slate under his feet, the water has not yet dried.

Big red bayberry, clear lake water.

As far as the eye can see, summer is coming.

Send spring back, and a hundred flowers are reluctant.

The breeze blows on the sleeves, and I am alone.

Fortunately, even ya, the song is a song.

Look at the song composed by the ruined house

A few sparrows set up in a thatched hut, envious and jealous of others.

I don't know when to wheel thatch, and the spring breeze helps make the wish come true.

"Poems of the Boat" two limerick poems are being typed by hand, please wait a moment,

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