Time is farther than the road.
Hold your poem.
My bag is full of romance.
I didn't know I was a butterfly.
Or a butterfly? It's me.
Towards the rainbow.
There are also tired dances in graceful posture.
How far is it?
Let the young lady have no place to live.
There is not a shadow in the busy crowd.
I think it's too far
Leaving only the lonely shadow on the horizon
Fortunately, the yellowed pages of poetry
It still smells like yesterday.
Like the sunshine by the sea.
Touch the face of youth
Warm and curved eyelashes
Touch a year, a month and a day.
Forget the heroic spirit.
Sometimes when I think about it,
Instantly resolve the once powerful.
Autumn leaves are foggy.
That's the attachment of fallen leaves to roots.