I like the 200 words in the diary of a rose.

I went to the park early in the morning and smelled a fragrance as soon as I entered the door. I ran quickly to the red rose.

Red roses have blossomed a lot, but they are crowded like beautiful and delicate girls. Red roses grow out of these green leaves. Some just spread out two or three flower edges, some petals are all spread out, revealing bright yellow stamens, and some flower bones look so full that they are about to burst.

There are many red roses, one after another. Look at this one, it's beautiful; Look at that. Beautiful, too. If the bouquet of red roses in front of us is regarded as a vivid painting, the artist's skill is really remarkable.

I suddenly feel like a red rose, dressed in fiery red, standing in the golden sunshine. A breeze blew, I danced and my red clothes fluttered with the wind. I'm not the only one, but also a bunch of red roses dancing. The wind has passed. I stopped dancing and stood there quietly. Butterflies flew by me, telling me the joy of flying in the air. Bees flew over my head and told me the joy of picking honey. ......

It took me a long time to remember that I am not a red rose, I am looking at a red rose.