It rains in March! elder sister
Under the protection of my charming bottomless wind
In the blue fog, you will never stop turning over.
April is worth looking forward to
The carriage surrounded by flowers
Will pass through our bodies in the April air.
Repeatedly convey the hint of boiling. And we
Even the smallest peristalsis of eyelashes and corners of the mouth can burst into Mars.
Growing with the wind, piercing the muddy road in March.
This April, hair is intertwined with warm wind.
Leaves and grass shed bright red juice, and you have the initial vow of meditation.
I have a habit of falling in love at first sight because of tears.
Sister, March will die.
Let's hold on to the shadows in the clear sky.
Wake up the most sensitive syllables on April strings!
I am so enthusiastic in the field full of painful poems that I can fly freely like a bird.
Your whisper is a bird's song, blowing the March.
Blow you to subvert the beauty of ancient wine glasses
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Sister, the rain in March
Every drop is a ripple to catch up with the days.
You sit on the waves and set sail.
The blush on the little face is messy, and it is very urgent and very similar.
The candle in my body keeps splitting.
Sister, do you know?
I came in March and came back last year.
The only light left for me is loneliness.
I held my arms high, but I couldn't sit still in the dark.
Let the words drift with the wind, and take away your sighs and kisses through fate.
Sister, since March has given way to dusk.
So, let's be in the peach blossom bone that won't fall.
Light up the hometown where the last ray of sunshine shines.
What does it matter if it is blown away by the wind?
In April, we will harvest fruits and vows of silence.
Immerse yourself day and night
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Sister, the end of March.
Peach blossom has landed, in our eyes.
Only the continuous rain in the past.
Continue to be cold and lonely, and continue to endure the loneliness of not looking back for a hundred years.
Sister, other manners are far from perfect.
We should not continue to guard against the smog outside the window.
The days will go on and the sun will shine.
The pain we refract will also be in the coming April.
Pour out at the innocent exit
Sister, let's reach out and knock on the sea in April.
April is a beautifully dressed house.
Watercolor, the singing skills of nightingale
Scattered and dancing moonlight, overlapping and tacit understanding, just like
Our belated smile is never far away.