Break free from the arms of the branches
In the most beautiful season
Embedded in muddy loess
That voice is weak.
But it's like a grain of sand breaking into a calm lake.
There are ripples in my heart.
Fall into the dark soil
Blend in
She's flipping and struggling.
Finally turned into a lock of spring mud.
Next year, the Flower Festival will open again.
She is still her.
Still the most beautiful flower on the branch.
The moment of landing
I know it all.
Throw away the praise of the world
Run to the cold land
It is the courage of flowers.
That voice
That faint voice
Funeral March field
Let me forget for a long time.