Reading with my old friend It is early summer, the flowers and plants are growing. Around my house the trees are spreading wide there branches. In which a host of birds find happy refuge; And I as well, I love my mountain living, I have done my ploughing and I have done my planting. Now I have leisure again to read my books. My old friend's car is always coming and going, In a merry mood we chat together and enjoy the flowers in the garden. A fine rain falls from the North, as a sweet breeze follows along with us. We glance at stories of window, And discuss the philosophy of our reading. Looking up and down, I ponder the universe, How can I not but be happy?

By Gladys99

25 December 2009

Reading with my old Friend    

It is early summer, the flowers and plants are growing.
Around my house the trees are spreading wide there branches.

In which a host of birds find happy refuge;
And I as well, I love my mountain living,

I have done my ploughing and I have done my planting.
Now I have leisure again to read my books.

My old friend's car is always coming and going,
In a merry mood we chat together and enjoy the flowers in the garden.

A fine rain falls from the North, as a sweet breeze follows along with us.
We glance at stories of window,
And discuss the philosophy of our reading.

Looking up and down, I ponder the universe,
How can I not but be happy?