Hua ying tong Jiang lyric prose

In spring, Tongjiang's name is Li Hua. Li Hua is the protagonist of spring, and Li Hua is the master of Tongjiang. Li Hua and Tongjiang are named after each other. In spring, after the cold winter, there are countless warm moments.

The transparent morning light written by every ray of sunshine is illuminated by her;

Every time I call a friend, she pulls the text message;

She measured every road leading to Tongjiang. ...

Li Hua is standing on the mountain, standing on a chilly height in spring. The deep affection of the earth is spoken by her, and our silence is seen by her.

two

Spend your whole life listening to the sound of a blooming flower and the life flowing from its roots.

Old is the trunk, beating is the immortal heart. The wind and frost didn't give her much leeway: those painful wrinkles, like knives and axes, broke through the limit.

It goes without saying that Li Hua holds the smallest and whitest note in the world as high as the top of the mountain and as high as his eyes, which is simple and true.

three

A world in a flower. In Tongjiang, beside Li Hua, we can see at the same time that gorgeous crimson peach blossoms, surging golden cauliflower, wild spring welcoming ... desolate and pure beauty have joined a vast and decisive chorus ...

Just like us, we go alone, or together, just to enjoy a magnificent memory, a dream of past lives.

four

The plum blossoms in the Year of the Ox are different from those in previous years. After the disaster, our family suffered more good news.

The thrilling days in the tent and the anxious desires in the board room can all bloom-into clusters of new buildings in the mountains, into conversations and smiles without surprises.

Cypress is a rafter, watermelon is a purlin, and the labor sound of saws and planers echoes in every gully.

Moreover, we spread the original folk songs all over the ridge where we went home, and we sang the happiness in the distance into the business card of western Sichuan.

At the height of the spirit, we turn suffering into flowers; We condensed the flowers into sweet and sour round fruits.

Dedicated to the annual spring; Dedicated to the glorious life of eternal life!