Henan centennial postal poems

Poetry/post, Wu Qing gently put down the still warm mobile phone, and her ears were full of the voice of Miss Bailing. Wrinkled fingers are banging on the electronic screen one after another, and the noise from the walkie-talkie in the factory is too late to listen. Everyone is busy. But everything is in good order. Green cars are full of people's hopes, running in every corner of the city, running in the countryside, running at the gate where the wind will not stay, running on the snowy plateau where the eagle flies. You see, it's as green as catching the moon in an idol. Let her eyes slowly fill with love and warmth, and then accept it. A different kind of temperature has reached you and my palms for a long time.