This autumn, there was a gust of wind in Yuan Ye.
The wind roared up vilen.
I quietly wrote it on the leaf.
Books and pens tell me gently that the wind is coming.
He came so fiercely.
As if to bury me in his wind nest.
I tried to escape from reality.
But the wind is still following me.
So I gave up my book and pen.
Throw it in the wind of vilen.
To preserve my whole life.
I don't know why.
Before dawn.
I lost all my dreams.
Deep in the grass of Yuan Ye.
Dew will wake up there at dawn.
I thought I escaped.
I ran to the flowers' home to find them.
Show your life value.
One after another, the flowers looked embarrassed.
It seems that I feel sorry for my lost pen and book.
I get it. I get everything.
I have never escaped the chase of the wind.
I have never been out of Yuan Ye this autumn.
This autumn, I am still running on the Yuan Ye.
But I don't know my tiredness.
Autumn wind always contains winter sadness.
It is colder in Yuan Ye in winter.
If you are smart, don't run on Master Yuan.
This meaningless desolation