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春光明媚的三月,校园里的树正绿得鲜嫩欲滴,各种争奇斗艳的花正开得恣意,浓烈。一阵微风拂过,不经意间一低头,我的心不禁猛地一颤:地上竟躺着几片绿色的叶子。我弯腰拾起一片绿叶,仔细端详起来:它生得健康,脉络分明,与枝头那些苍翠的叶子并没有什么差异。我开始为它过早凋零而惋惜:那么多绿叶都在为浓郁的夏日积蓄热情,而它却在梦想刚刚绽开时,便匆匆告别了赖以生存的枝头,它该有着怎样的遗憾和不甘呢?
Spring in March, the green trees on campus are fresh and tender, and all kinds of contests are blooming flowers are arbitrary and strong. A breeze blowing, a bow inadvertently, my heart suddenly shook: the ground actually lay a few green leaves. I bent over and picked up a leaf of green, looking it closely: it was healthy and distinct, and no different from those green leaves on the branches. I began to pardon its premature death: so many greenery are saving passion for a rich summer, and when it just dreams bloom, it hastily bid farewell to the branches on which it depends, what regret it has and Unwilling?