A beautiful autumn falls into a festival.
Variations without theme become eternal masterpieces.
Become me, the beauty of life in my eyes is a tear, standing at your fingertips.
The purple sky has not fallen.
For example, at the top of Mount Everest.
A brilliant saussurea involucrata blooms in Sanskrit singing.
For a mysterious scenic spot, but also for
A lingering entanglement of fate, purple soul.
Willing to end a glorious life,
Running to your delicate touch and pity
Run to the beauty of silence
Engrave my attachment to you with a drop of crystal narration, and I will tell you with the most beautiful depth.
I can't help but be moved by the picture at this moment. At the moment Violet reclined.
Purple vase, quiet in gentle sleep.
You breathe purple, too
Let me, light the footsteps of my soul,
Let the rhythm of poetry jump down, hold your breath, and the ripples in your eyes will
Quietly caress
Then, quietly watching you, watching the tears on your hands.
A beautiful autumn falls into a festival.
Variations without theme become eternal masterpieces.
Being myself, the beauty of life in my eyes-
You sang in Brahma, under my pious gaze.
You are in full bloom, in my lingering mood.