我一看,差点笑倒。那是盆半死不活的文竹,被妈妈弃置一旁。且莫说那细瘦绵软的茎,琐碎细小的叶和有气无力的气韵,单只文竹能不能开出花了,就够我的小表妹研究的了。
I almost laughed when I saw it. It was a pot of half dead bamboo, abandoned by my mother. I can't say that the thin and soft stem, the tiny leaves and the powerless charm, whether a single bamboo can blossom, is enough for my little cousin to study.
“不可能。你要知道文竹是文竹,槐树是槐树,文竹永远成不了花。”
"No way. You should know that Wenzhu is Wenzhu, Huaishu is Huaishu, and Wenzhu will never be a flower. "
乐乐板着小脸,一声不吭。独自一人呼哧呼哧地把花搬到自己的“势力范围”内。
The music is flat faced and silent. He moved the flowers to his "sphere of influence" by himself.
从此,窗外是妖娆的槐树,窗内是病恹恹的文竹。
Since then, the window is enchanting locust tree, the window is sick of bamboo.
春天过去了。杨树依依,细草茵茵,纸鸳飘飘,孩童笑闹。只有我的小表妹一人制定养花计划,严格执行,决不偷懒。
Spring is over. Poplar, grass, Mandarin paper, children laugh. My little cousin is the only one who makes the flower plan and strictly implements it. She will never be lazy.
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