劉愚拙

The stream is a boat in spring.

Ice is the first group of guests to take.

They squeeze cheerfully.

The stream is a cloth of silk in spring.

Little swallows cast their shadows on it.

And their wings cut back and forth like scissors.

The stream is a mirror in spring.

The willows are making up themselves.

When the wind blows， their green hair waves softly.

The stream is a musician in spring.

Listen！ Its singing， tinkle， tinkle ...

The peach pedals are dancing with this sweet song.