In August and autumn, the wind roared and rolled up my three hairs. Mao Fei crossed the river and sprinkled it on the periphery of the river.
The highest one hangs a long forest tip, and the lowest one floats to Shentang depression. The children in Nancun bullied me,
I couldn't bear to be a thief across the street, but openly carried Mao into the bamboo forest. Dry mouth, unable to breathe,
Come back and sigh with a stick. In an instant, the wind will set the color of the clouds and ink, and the autumn will be bleak and dark.
The cloth has been cold and iron for many years, and the pride is cracked. There is no dry place in the bed room.
The feet of the rain are like hemp. How can you get wet all night since you are in a mess and don't get enough sleep?
There are tens of millions of buildings in Ande, which greatly protect all the smiles of the poor in the world, and the wind and rain are as quiet as mountains.
Alas, suddenly seeing this house in front of me, it is enough for me to freeze to death alone.