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A dead vine, quietly climbing on an old tree or other vegetation. Hiding an old and magical memory. The westerly wind couldn't lift the hijab of the past. A group of thoughts stood on a dry vine that was higher than the ideal, crying for the loss of time, and a flowing river flowed from her memory. She rushed and surging forward. However, I walked through the twenty-first spring and autumn, why her fairy-like face has never appeared. The old tree, a sad old tree Parliament Cigarettes, carrying the dead vine, and the leaves of the place I missed. Like parents playing with their children, playing in the sun. Their appearance makes the old tree make a rustling sound of joy and feel the vitality and joy of life. With the constant exchanges between spring and summer and autumn and winter, the fate of Lao Shu gradually became more difficult. It had to abandon its own flesh and blood in order to survive the difficulties of life and to leave a little food for its own future and life. A tree grows old in this way. Starting from the internal trauma, the old tree is silent, as if happiness only concerns itself. In the evening, the crow was abandoned by time on the field next to the old tree, the desolate sky, the old tree torn by the westerly wind; the sunset was planted in the flowers and fruits of the cliff, and the crow could only look and smile slightly. The faint crow packed his bags and went home. Suddenly found that maybe it was too fun. It turned out nothing, but the wings were scratched. Opening the dusty past and seeing the parents overworked for themselves, they had to cry on the shoulder of the old tree. That evening, my sky was full of the crow's footprints and tears. Xiaoqiao, you are a silvery crescent moon, shining light on humanity, carrying hurried steps, and chasing happy days. You are a human being that can never straighten your eyes. No matter where you go out in the end of the earth, your eyes are beside him. You are a soft hoe, and never stop reclaiming the backwardness and desolation of your hometown. The flowing water has a charm that makes me run in clear and bright eyes. Through your messy steps, my singing sounds with your beat. There is a kind of task that touches your slogan while reading and makes you trickle. At this time, I thank God for giving me the feeling of cruel reality and tragic life in the long river of years. I often spin your figure inside, lift up your short skirt, pick up a rose, go with you to the ends of the earth, look for my homecoming rain, endlessly laugh, cry, and never stop to the path to others Washed off by the rain, spotless, like a woman just out of the bath, reflecting a dazzling light. The weeds, dealers, and bamboo leaves on both sides are washed bright by the rain and green to your eyes. If it were not seen in the rain, no one would imagine such a clear and pleasant picture. The presence of tourists shook her beauty to others, like a ticking bell, and kept walking forward. At dusk, withered time, the heart began to fall, dancing like a wild wind. Step into the house and look for moving stories, recite every moving poem, and taste the melody of that ancient love cliff. cliff. Ancient road. My heart, the style of sleeping and sleeping, thousands of miles, I found you at the moment you are about to disappear Marlboro Red. Your old and lonely old way, when the tall-headed, square-faced man passed by you thousands of years ago, you are destined to have no future, no hustle, no tackiness, only simple cicadas, soul The chasing Qiuyu kept on washing the ancient trails innocently and invigoratingly, leaving the valleys with rain left, which makes people seem to enter the long river of history and write prosperity and decay together. The changes are written into the ancient trails washed by Qiuyu. The ancient road has become a true historical record. The old road in the rain is still full of vigor at this time, and the laughter is hidden in the sound of rain, just like the sweet words between friendship. On both sides of the ancient road, various kinds of weeds and weeds compete for their beauty, making people feel like they are in a pure spiritual world. Is it the legendary ancient way? No, it is the ancient way in my mind. The west wind and the west wind slap the old road constantly. All the chaos are drawn into the bag of the west wind, thin into the original nothingness. But I still walked in the west wind, walking towards the farthest path in the soul Newport 100S, the furthest lost road. Whenever Zephyr attacks me relentlessly, my appearance is still calm, but my thoughts are surging like sea. I do n��t know why I ��m so sad, I ca n��t find where the pain is, and where the hurt is in the piercing westerly wind. I still accept the pain and happiness of change. Help me pick up a word that is sad and joyful. I walked across the village on three hoofs and ran towards nowhere. It was dark and I should go. I led the thin horse through the back door. Outside, the bustle of the market. Looking back at the path I have traveled, there is no trace of the hissing sound of the thin horse, if there is none, sliding softly through my heart, as if telling me every story. Standing on this ancient campus with a thin horse, I faced the disorderly crowd, and came lonely, facing the heart, and the setting sun would walk along the ancient road that the thin horse walked from the mountain side every day. The remnant of the golden color * reflected on the desolate ancient road, it was as light as fog, tangled with branches, and when it came to the mountain, it fell into darkness, disappeared and disappeared into the setting sun, with pure material, and it was near the earth. Forever river. Still right foot. A person with a broken heart is covered with vicissitudes of his body, and after a long time, he has become a broken heart without fighting. Not so much a traveller from another country as a member of my family. Twenty-one seals finally circled on the roads in other towns, and his lifelong dream was his lifelong struggle. No disappointment, no sorrow, just a broken heart. Steadfast and silent, trying to set out a landscape on this rugged mountain. A few drops of tears flowed into the westerly wind, and were buried with the broken heart in the direction of the setting sun. Tianya put a damp heart on Tianya's side, looking back to the hurried days of elaborate cultivation, engraved with diligence and expectations. Missing in the sky dance, wandering. The intersection where I went home has already pushed the direction. My figure asked me if everything in the past had a leaning temperature. I dare not talk nonsense. The only thing that is silent is hovering over Tianya and approaching the end of the poem in silence.
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