In the past, Xiaohe had three or two leaves, and the crescent moon hung in the Willow tip. Now the ear ripe pulp is full of grains. The full moon shines on Qingtian. I just wrote an untitled little que. There is no moral. Because there is moral, I will not sign it as Untitled! How can the thousand miles of grass be green? The green is just grass. The seedlings are short-ripe, and almost a hundred days is a reincarnation. When you were still recalling the twos and threes of buds beside the pond accompanied by the clamshell frogs, she had been heading golden for a moment. Although she brought a burst of fragrance of rice flowers, she knew that this was the fragrance of mellow wine in the future, drink but not keep out the cold, it is difficult to resist the cold by the bridge. The moon is still so bright, I don’t know how many gains and shortages there have been. I can look up because of her softness. Countless times of bathing in my dreams have washed away the dust and haze in my heart. Like close close. Willow, Pond. It seems to be far away, the horizon, the western mountain. If you ask me how many women I have loved, how can I answer this question. Now I understand why no one understands Li Shangyin. No one understand Xu Zhimo. Because they are not Li Bai or Lu Xun. ‘S livelihood, people’s wellbeing. It has nothing to do with them, and of course it has nothing to do with me. I am just a piece of green field, a piece of barren green field. Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) the 30th year of my WeChat era

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