Youth is a sad poem, yes, it is a song. Only at those ignorant ages can there be those charming feelings. Like the gentle caress of spring rain, like the kiss of summer wind on the face, as clear as the high white clouds in autumn. Wait, wait, every seemingly ordinary piece of life is the philosophy of life and the footprints of a young man's growth, so charming and nostalgic.
Concept: Growth is the pain of midsummer, and youth is a sad poem. Always growing, but never growing old!