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2018年03月19日
Walking into the memory, the past can be like smoke

Touch the picture of the years, a wisp of dust through the tip of the finger, those who touch the soul of the past, a low eyebrow fall into the eyes, the heart, and I do not know how to write the poem.


Walking into the memory, the past can be like smoke. This season, the clouds floating, flower and grass luxuriant, how many concepts in the wind wedding event management, how many deep meaning in the chardonnay smoke is heavy, and how much the past take root in my mind, it does not vary with time passed away, also won't keep away from light, it will only be in your memory, follow with you, fall in love to meet with you.


The watch is the heart of the world are good, and my beautiful fireworks in the poetic live, warm living words, even if it will be welcome backstage rental, good luck will fall, that used to make a paper flowers of au, still is I put pen to paper mood rings.


Quietly looking back, the beautiful glass, warm over the heart. Once walked hand in hand, you pour my heart, I pour you, beautiful flowers is not to say, how much water need not ask, only the eyes across the green lines, not old, and have the noise outside the scenery billow into the picture, beautiful poem, the deep love is my this present life metaphor of my complex.


Through the red dust, used to embroider the fragrance, once a month invited to drink, also once associated with the action. Time like water, every time memories have offered a eyebrow bend, the wind sage accounting, and warm through the heart, and thoughts of string bead curtain, I hang it in the first crossing, you walk through, will remote ring in the heart is devoted to the wipe out.


I think those who have entered into the heart, the erosion of bone, if after several years, deep in the memory is still one stroke, still keep the same with you, mutual understand with you, with your little smile enron, because of that year, ever to have is better than any prosperous in the world.


The past does not smoke, how much concern how many memories, how many, how much memory is read, the heart still has great tide, there is still a fragrance surplus sleeve, there are still many don't give up, as soon as possible in accordance with the one who holds your heart arteries and veins, talk with the warm fresh blood.


In life there are always some touched the heart, the billow always some enchanted world of mortals, something always accompany years, there are always some warm deck you big star's life, through the years, with The Times to meet, meet with vegetation, and the past met, it is quiet time to precipitate out of the most beautiful amorous feelings.


Back in time, how can the past smoke, open for a period of time, my memory with a longing for the paper, read a romantic at heart, I use extensive ink pen, carve attentively, the story of the world of mortals word for warm. The love of the red dust, the secret fragrance, everywhere, but the heart of the love, no matter how far out, believe that the persistence is still my pen to remember the red dust, warm and warm collection of care.


If one day, time old, I think the past is not old, the edge of the last, no matter accumulation and dispersion, because of beginner's mind nourishing, if life only such as first, I would like to keep a clear, from the end of the world, forget, or do not forget, please remember my tranquil one Ye Zhou always anchored in your nearest place, tottering, my heart still, through the four seasons, put pen to paper are green.


Open palm, I still write clear sky, still write month lang qing wind, still write down the story of the world of mortals, time past, even if sometimes start to grief, put pen to paper disconsolate, heart is joyful, because life is so true through, offered a river, across the trench, through complex, even pain, aching so willingly, the scattering of fate, the end of the world in the labrary does not appear to have gone far, such as the invariable moonlight, is one thousand from shore, will be well with you.


My mind is not thin, my words are not old. A paper book, the joy of seeing it with, over time, such as lotus, the faint fragrance, gently writing depict, faint, quiet recollection, so refined thoughts, wan yi occasionally sad, ooze with beautiful fireworks, edify the contracted state of mind, charming the lonely night.


The night is small, the starlight is looming, the wind is rolling in the heart, a pot, a book, the heart of the petals, in the gloom of the glass, sweet fragrance, charming. In life there is always a person, see to see, he or she is in your heart, read a flower, a flower falls, heaven and earth how wide, how deep thoughts, don't say sunset, no stars, but it only planted flowers in the word honey, even if silence falls, recall is also a kind of sweet sadness.


Strangers, fate, will always come and go; The years spin, the feeling, always has the division and the close; Smoke into the memories, how can the past, stop or stay, looking back at rub shoulders or joy or sadness, or whispering flowers, let the light, those who hurt, those who beauty to the south to the wind, twist a proverb words, in the time of keeping quiet light green, planted a forget-me-not, oh that was years, beginner's mind is still; But let the past as ever, with water depth, flow into a poem, to fallen petal calmly, to regret, with the attitude of compassion, with blood support, support the fragrance of a flange, support recall of candlelight, earth never devoid of warmth.

[ 投稿者:weuieri at 12:54 | weuieri | コメント(0) | トラックバック(0) ]

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