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四季是四封信
春天是大地收到的第一封信，信封小小的，里面却塞满了花朵，一封也装不下。
桃花拆开粉色的火漆，梨花拆开白色的，油菜花把整个山坡盖章盖得金灿灿。
小蜜蜂是邮递员，从这枝跑到那枝，把花香送到每一扇窗。
燕子衔着剪刀飞回来，把柳叶裁得又细又长。
小草冒出头，伸个懒腰，探出小脑袋看一看世界。
我爱春天，爱雨后冒芽的声音，像有人在泥土底下说悄悄话。
夏天是蝉鸣做成的歌，它爬上树，把声音系在最高的枝头。
蝉儿白天唱，夜里也唱，唱得正午的太阳发白，唱得树影一动不动。
荷叶举起绿色的盘子，接住跳下来的雨点，叮，叮，叮。
西瓜一刀切开，红瓤黑籽，夏天藏进一口甜里。
萤火虫点亮一盏盏小灯笼，池塘变成了星空。
我爱夏天，爱日落以后的满天星，爱蒲扇摇过的风。
秋天是一封金色的信，撕成一片一片，满天飞舞。
落叶一边飞一边写信，写给大地，说大树想它了。
大雁在天上写人字，一撇一捺，写得整整齐齐。
稻穗弯下腰，用最有礼貌的姿势，跟农民伯伯打招呼。
柿子挂在枝头，一只一只大红灯笼，等着谁来点亮。
我爱秋天，爱桂花里的甜，爱谷仓里的金黄。
冬天来得轻手轻脚，提着一篮雪花，走一路，撒一路。
雪给田野盖了被子，被子底下，麦苗在做绿色的梦。
雪人站在村口，手里举着扫帚，替村子守一整夜。
北风翻动书页，田野一页一页翻白。
梅花在雪里点亮红灯笼，给新年照一条回家的路。
我爱冬天，爱对手心吹气的暖，爱炉火跳动的红光，爱糖炒栗子香喷喷的街。
四季是四封信，年年都按时寄到。
春天花，夏天蝉，秋天叶，冬天雪，各有各的香味。
我把它们一封一封拆开，大声念给天空听。
风在底下听着，鼓起掌来，掌声变成了四季的声音。
我爱四季，因为每一封信，都是写给我的。
等我长大了，我也想当邮递员，把四季寄给每一个人。
The Four Seasons Are Four Letters
Spring is the first letter the earth receives. The envelope is small, yet stuffed full of flowers, too many for even one envelope.
Peach blossoms break the pink seals, pear blossoms break the white ones, and the rapeseed flowers stamp the whole hillside golden.
The little bee is a postman, running from branch to branch, carrying the fragrance to every window.
The swallow flies back carrying scissors, cutting the willow leaves thin and long.
The grass pokes its head out, stretches, and looks at the world.
I love spring, I love the sound of sprouting after the rain, like someone whispering under the soil.
Summer is a song made of cicada sound; it climbs the tree and ties the sound to the highest branch.
The cicadas sing by day and by night, singing the noon sun pale, singing the leaf shadows motionless.
The lotus leaves hold up green plates to catch the jumping raindrops, plink, plink, plink.
The watermelon is cut open, red flesh and black seeds, and summer hides inside one bite of sweetness.
The fireflies light lantern after lantern, and the pond turns into a starry sky.
I love summer, I love the starry sky after sunset, I love the wind swept by the palm fan.
Autumn is a golden letter, torn into pieces, flying all over the sky.
The fallen leaves write as they fly, writing to the earth, saying the big tree misses it.
The wild geese write the character for person in the sky, one stroke left, one stroke right, written neat and tidy.
The rice ears bow their heads and greet the farmers in the politest way.
Persimmons hang on the branches, big red lanterns one by one, waiting for someone to light them.
I love autumn, I love the sweetness inside the osmanthus, I love the gold in the granary.
Winter comes on tiptoe, carrying a basket of snowflakes, scattering them all along the road.
The snow puts a quilt over the fields, and under the quilt the wheat seedlings are dreaming green dreams.
The snowman stands at the village entrance holding a broom, guarding the village all night long.
The north wind turns the pages, and the fields turn white page by page.
The plum blossoms light red lanterns in the snow, lighting a road home for the new year.
I love winter, I love the warmth of blowing on cupped hands, I love the dancing red glow of the stove, I love the fragrant street of roasted chestnuts.
The four seasons are four letters, arriving on time every year.
Spring flowers, summer cicadas, autumn leaves, winter snow, each with its own fragrance.
I open them letter by letter and read them aloud to the sky.
The wind listens below and claps its hands, and the clapping turns into the sounds of the four seasons.
I love the four seasons, because every letter is written for me.
When I grow up, I want to be a postman too, and mail the four seasons to everyone.
四季问答歌
我来问，你来答，四季的问题一大筐。
什么给山坡穿上花衣，红一块，黄一块，白一块？
春天呀春天，桃花、油菜花和梨花，一人带一种颜色。
什么把枝头喊得发烫，白天喊，夜里喊，嗓子不哑？
夏天呀夏天，蝉儿坐在树杈上，把正午喊得亮堂堂。
什么把金色的信寄满天空，一封接一封，不用邮票？
秋天呀秋天，落叶打着旋儿飞，写给大地的信最长。
什么给屋顶戴上白帽，给小河盖上玻璃？
冬天呀冬天，雪花一夜之间赶到，脚印一串，是它的诗行。
春天的雨落在哪里，落在谁家的瓦片上？
落在种子耳朵边，滴答滴答，喊它起床。
夏天的雷躲在哪里，躲在哪朵乌云后方？
躲在荷塘上空，轰隆隆，给大雨开路护航。
秋天的风忙些什么，从早到晚不停忙？
忙着染红枫叶，忙着把稻浪推过村庄。
冬天的太阳去哪做客，半天不见它模样？
在烟囱顶上晒太阳，在窗花后面捉迷藏。
夏天的蜻蜓爱歇在哪里呀，歇在哪一片水面上？
歇在荷叶圆圆的影子上，立定，把小脑袋晃一晃，又飞走。
春天的蝴蝶借谁的口袋，飞过篱笆进了院墙？
借小姑娘的裙角，忽闪忽闪，带她去摘草莓尝一尝。
冬天的北风敲谁的窗户，敲呀敲，不肯停当？
敲爷爷火塘的窗，炉膛里的炭噼啪笑，把客人让进屋旁。
四季的问题问不完，你一句，我一章。
春天种个问句在土里，夏天发芽，秋天结果，冬天收藏。
答案长在哪里？长在爷爷的谷仓，长在奶奶的针线筐。
我来答，你来问，换一换，接着唱。
四季的歌唱不完，一拍手，一声响。
唱给南飞的大雁，唱给冬眠的青蛙，唱给每一个上学的娃娃。
The Question and Answer Song of Four Seasons
I ask, you answer; the four seasons have a whole basket of questions.
What dresses the hillside in a flower coat, a patch of red, a patch of yellow, a patch of white?
Spring, spring; peach, rapeseed and pear blossoms, each bringing one color.
What makes the branches shout until they burn, shouting by day, shouting by night, voices never hoarse?
Summer, summer; the cicada sits on the tree fork and makes the noon bright and loud.
What posts golden letters all over the sky, one after another, needing no stamps?
Autumn, autumn; fallen leaves spin as they fly, the letter to the earth being the longest.
What puts a white cap on the roof and covers the little river with glass?
Winter, winter; snowflakes arrive in one night, a string of footprints forming its lines of verse.
Where does the rain of spring fall, on the roof tiles of whose house?
It falls by the ear of the seed, drip drip drip, calling it to wake up.
Where does the thunder of summer hide, behind which dark cloud?
It hides above the lotus pond, rumble rumble, opening the road for the heavy rain.
What is the wind of autumn busy with, busy from morning to night without rest?
It is busy reddening the maple leaves, busy pushing the waves of rice past the village.
Where does the sun of winter go to pay a visit, absent for half the day?
It sunbathes on the top of the chimney, and plays hide-and-seek behind the paper window flowers.
Where does the dragonfly of summer like to rest, on which patch of water surface?
It rests on the round shadow of the lotus leaf, stands still, shakes its little head, and flies away.
Whose pocket does the butterfly of spring borrow, flying over the fence into the yard?
It borrows the skirt corner of the little girl, fluttering fluttering, taking her to taste the strawberries.
Whose window does the north wind of winter knock on all night, knocking and knocking without stopping?
It knocks at the window of the stove of Grandpa, the charcoal in the fire crackling with laughter, welcoming the guest inside.
The questions of the four seasons never run out, one line from you, one chapter from me.
Plant a question in the soil in spring; it sprouts in summer, bears fruit in autumn, and is stored away in winter.
Where do the answers grow? They grow in the granary of Grandpa, in the sewing basket of Grandma.
I answer, you ask; we switch around and keep on singing.
The songs of the four seasons never run out, one clap, one sound.
Sing them to the wild geese flying south, to the frogs sleeping through winter, to every child who walks to school.
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