On the other side of the Iraqi people, buzzing flowers are in full bloom.
Children play and the wind blows the leaves.
Spring, summer and autumn are the four seasons.
Smoke rose from the kitchen stove and vowed to cry goodbye.
The mast in the distance, the familiar figure.
Outside the fence village, ask when you will return.
White sails landed and looked at the broken heart bridge.
What you think is sent to radio waves.