ylq123
Joined: 07 Jul 2018 Posts: 53
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Posted: Fri Mar 29, 2019 8:27 am Post subject: In the morning |
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In the morning, the sun is just right, and the sunshine still greets the light, and it runs through the fragrant path. The old tree is bathed in the soft sunlight, and the sun is naughty through the gaps, jumping to the ankles, and shaking, like a butterfly, dancing in the wind. I want to look at this "butterfly" and slowly wait for the wind to accidentally break into a quiet place, a place where you can be distressed. Turning over the low wall, a whole piece of green, flowing cautiously, fresh and refreshing, my heart is the atmosphere she gave me. The muddy path is full of decaying bauhinia leaves, which creak on it [url=www.vonderhain.com/marlboro]Newport Cigarettes Online Free Shipping[/url]. They are like a silent storyteller, telling the story of the budding beauty in a life-filled tone. They are waiting for the people who write their stories, and convey the hopes of the branches with the alum of love. The sprouts of the old tree of Bauhinia seem to be waiting silently [url=www.vonderhain.com/marlboro]Newport Cigarettes Carton Wholesale[/url], waiting to grow into a piece of dark green leaves, and then swaying in the wind that waits, passing the last season's separation of self-made "oil paintings". The old vine is decorated with a small pavilion, and the cracked coat is full of life and life. A little pink sneaked into the eye without warning, and slowly approached, it turned out to be a cute little Nizi [url=www.usacigs365.com]Cheap Newport 100 Cigarettes[/url]. Xiaoquer overflowed from her cherry mouth and awakened the whole fresh world. The appearance of Xiao Nizi is like a magical power, which makes me want to walk into the fence of the pavilion where the quiet fingertips pass, flowing through the rugged Jiulixiang. The dew is still shining in the sun, the fragrance of the flower has been greedy at the temperature of the fingertips. For a long time, I refused to leave and walked down the steps. I was greeted by the walled ivy, red ribs, green leaves, and elegant women��s cheongsam. Don't touch the roots of the button. Can not help but close, can not help but stop to stay. The green leaves are turned away, and the red brick walls are hidden in the darkness. The little ant faced me with a sudden visit. Is this their home? The milky white mud has turned gray and white [url=www.vonderhain.com/marlboro]Cheap Cartons Of Newport 100 Cigarettes[/url], and it is full of fuzzy routes. Probably, the little ants are looking for homes on these small routes [url=www.usacigs365.com]Newport Regular Cigarettes[/url]. How can I disturb it easily? Putting down the green leaves, the breeze comes, how bright all the smell of the wind, the spread of green sent me to the front of the red iron gate. The red-lacquered part was exposed to the air, and the orange and dark red were against each other, just in the heart. There are many unknown secrets hidden behind the red iron gate. The forgotten time can take the secret away. I only believe that the long-lost mystery will be the driving force for me to wait for the wind. In front of the door is a miscellaneous dead branch, I can sit on it without thinking about it. It��s probably long enough for the deadlock to be long, and the rotten remnant can��t afford my pressure and disconnect a few. Quietly leaning against the red door, I want to forget all the mourning and bury all the martyrdom. Put your thoughts here, accompany the red door, and smudge a few black and white blue and green... I want to live, and the red door is a swing, in the shade of Bauhinia. The old leaves sang, and the wind screamed through the green ocean. The old vine blossoms, and the red and beautiful petals fall on the scorpion of Xiao Nizi. After the little song ending in the little mouth of Xiao Nizi��s cherry, it��s the mother��s love. The ivy is also jubilant, the snail on the leaf lazily moves the translucent shell, goes to the breeze, and the little ant meets unexpectedly in the green leaf handle... I can imagine the opening of the red door. Seeing the wind coming in the morning, holding the breeze behind the low wall, temporarily and passionately blending my breath into the quiet greenery, drowning my trace, the "butterfly" on the ankle has quietly left. The wind is coming again, leaving my heart here and never bringing it back. |
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