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Spring is the most beautiful waste

   I don’t know who leaked the news of spring, maybe it’s the ding-dong spring water, the flower buds waiting to bloom, the sadness of climbing over the fence…
  After the Spring Festival, people haven’t recovered from the lazy atmosphere. Then came. I got up and walked out the door like welcoming an old friend. I haven’t seen it for a year, and I can’t wait to talk to it about the years when it was not there, the rainy season I went through, and the heavy snow that fell on my heart.
  I came to the field with it, and the wind was still blowing in the field. Zi vetch blooms all over the fields, well-formed, like square characters in matts. I seem to be the Mr. Hua, and I can’t help muttering, which character is written crookedly, which character is written outside the grid, which character The writing is too crowded…
  As an idler, I worry about the growth of a flower, but forget that there is no flower growing in my heart. Yes, my heart is full of weeds, like mountains and rivers in hibernation.
  I hurried home and sat down on the balcony, with a cup of tea and a book of poetry, and started to study. As I was reading, I was taken away by the fragrance in the air, covered my face with the book and fell asleep. I dreamed that the peach tree in my childhood yard was full of pink flowers in spring. At that time, I always imagined that one day, I would stand under the tree and peaches could fall into my mouth.
  It is a pity that the tree did not bear fruit once. The story seems to come to an abrupt end at the most beautiful moment, and the falling flowers are colorful, just falling. But when I woke up, I realized that the whole afternoon had passed like this, without seeing a single word, or seeing peach blossoms.
  I suddenly wanted to build a fence in front of my house, and the fence was full of colorful flowers. The butterflies have come, the warm wind has come, and spring will definitely go slower. I was thinking like this, and when I came back to my senses, night had fallen. Only then did I realize that I wasted one spring after another like this.
  If it was normal, I would definitely feel that I wasted years. But this is spring, although I am in a daze, but I feel that thousands of trees are blooming in my heart, turning into a deer in that spring day, galloping in the spring fields. That idleness is also the most beautiful idleness, and that daze is nothing more than letting Chunguang press the pause button.
  Because spring is here, I don’t dare to read poems with my eyes full, I’m afraid, it will run to other people’s yards and forget me; I’m afraid, after it leaves, my flowers will never bloom again; Jumbo’s spring is ignored by others. In spring, I seem to be a melancholy girl, just want to write a Qingping tune for spring. Flat and flat, like a string of sorrows, still jingling in the spring breeze.
  Every year, no matter where I go, spring will always be my old friend. If you must grow flowers, grow a Sauvignon Blanc. I am preoccupied, dilly-dallying; I waste my time, slowly. Just because the flowers have not yet faded, and the spring is not gone; just because, in my heart, spring is the most beautiful waste.

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