Some said life, it is the seasons.

                         The children, with brilliant laughter, light as a bright flower, blooming in the spring.  

The young, with sound body, tall as a towering tree, glowing in the summer.

The mid adult, brimming with joys of success, are the fruits, ripening in the autumn.

The old, covered with wrinkles of ages, are the dry land, blown by the winter.

And I say life, it is the day.

I step on the dewdrops.

Long lances of sunlight pierce down,

through the dense foliage, near and far.

I catch the breathe of the life, I feel the beginning of the day.

The day begins in the morning.

I dance by the lake.

The sun is hanging, shinning in the sky.

The larks are singing, deluged the noon with its waves of song.

The charm of the noon makes me realize the power of the life.

I walk along the path.

The sun is sinking behind the mountain.

Its afterglow pours on the white house,

as if the gold voile speared on the face.

 Everything is in harmony.

Then I know

life will always come to tranquility no matter how wonderful it is.

I ramble on my way.

The sun is not willing to meet the night.

The sky looks handsomely beautiful shined by the moonlight.

Stars are winking at me and the breeze is playing with the leaves.

The coming of night is not to end the day, but to open a different sight.

The coming of death is not to end the life, but to give a birth to a new life.

I say life, it is the day.

Even

Everyone says life, it is the seasons.