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Автор Тема: fall into a trough  (Прочитано 4 раз) A A A A
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« : Ноябрь 11, 2019, 05:45:08 »

 fall into a trough, I should also go to nature. Maybe between the high-rise buildings in the cement city, I can hear a few loud and cheerful birdsong. Maybe between the many wild grasses, I can find a different flower. Maybe under the gloomy dome, I can have a bright time. When I opened the window, I accidentally alerted the bird on the branch. It flew a few wings and flew farther. I took my thoughts and flew away to nature. It was a sunny time. It said to me. [Part 2] The uneven rocky pier, the shallow shallow puddle, the tall wall covered with sunflowers, and the legend of the white painted new wall. The bird, whose feathers have not yet grown, patted their wings and followed the farmer in a long gown into the compound. The bicycle grinds out the sound of ��squeaky and squeaky��. The children are busy picking up a few change pockets and looking for the uncle��s sauce beans. The tall camphor tree blocks the glare of the sun Cheap Cigarettes, leaving a moment of shady, bright and happy time. . In the evening, the sun was hung up on the west hill, and a beautiful painting was made on the clean curtain. I sat in the back seat of my father's bicycle, drinking the light of the bustling lights on the canal, and carefully exploring the glory of the city. The noisy temple fair, I and the little sisters looked forward to it for a long time, and finally squeezed into the crowds. The flaming lanterns are in a row, the singing and singing of the group, the performance of the little monkey, all of them are very interesting. There was a scent of maltose in the distance. I sniffed my nose and melted it like a bright sun. The thick syrup danced horizontally and horizontally on the rice paper. The grandfather who sold the sugar painted with a spoon. With a wave of light, a small animal was sketched on the paper, and it was shaken to the left and seemed to be another shape Parliament Cigarettes. My eyes are bright, I swallow a few mouthfuls of water, and my eyes are fixed on a butterfly. The father waved the butterfly in his hand, and I rushed over with it. It seemed to flash the golden light in the pan. I climbed on my father's shoulders three or two times Online Cigarettes, greeted the bright sunshine and sang simple and happy songs. In the evening, we gathered on the cold slate of the stream and quietly pinched down the original dream under the camphor tree. We laughed, splashing each other and drinking the moonlight. We will be on time next to the popcorn car, enjoy the fire, the joy of the rice cracked, share the moment of aroma. We will follow the big man's buttocks and sneak out the coins, and sneak into the car to buy a few rice cakes. I will sneak into other people's homes and forget that time has been taken away by the adults. Recalling how clear the memories of childhood, like the past clouds, but unforgettable, like the bright spring, people yearn for. I can't remember what the dream of being buried under the tree is. I only remember that at that time, the sky was very blue, the wind was very light, the clouds were very light, and the stars were floating, and the ears only laughed once and again. The bright time was short, but it became the most beautiful poetry in my heart.

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