Much like a flower, it seems that it is not a flower, and no one falls to the ground. Throwing it on the side of the road seems heartless, but it is full of affection. It was she who was injured, euphemistically confused, trying to open her mouth but closing it tightly. To go with the wind, to find a loved one, but also by the relentless call of the oriole. I don't hate this kind of flowers falling completely, but I hate the West Garden, which is full of withered flowers. Where are the traces of falling flowers after the rain in the morning? Drift into the pool and become a pool of duckweed. If the spring scenery is divided into three parts, two of them become dust, and the other part disappears when it falls into the water. Fine, it seems that it is not easy, it is a crystal tear. [