Grapped corn
Rows of golden autumn
Rubbing old hands
Grains of corn
Ran all over the place
Panting stove pit
A wisp of smoke walking
Twenty minutes away
From the rooftop The chimney rises into the sky
The old years
The steamed bun is cooked
The old wine
Lights up the seven-row pot table
The rice is fragrant
The eight-row kang is heated
A bottle of three-hundred-year-old wine
Dad is drunk
Sweet potatoes
Night
Mom thinks dad’s feet smell bad
There is me in the middle
I covered my head
There is a pile of sweet potatoes in the middle
Early morning
The pile of sweet potatoes is missing
The heat from outside is coming
It smells so good
Winter
Dad should take a rest
The snowflakes are all white
Mom is still so busy< /p>
The wind was cold
Dad took off his cotton boots
The cigarette bag was hooked on the cigarette basket in the kang
Smiling