takkery

Time still, sweet-scented osmanthus sweet-scented osmanthus fragrance full branch, for whom ... Inadvertently, has until the sad middle-aged, looks back on the passing years, half red, half the affection, still look pale. Thought you are my forever pole, this is good. Your passion, gradually become unreachable happiness.

Moonlit night, I gently faint Acacia into a poem, will their love love a certain image. Numerous hills and streams, yearn day and night, love is unforgettable, but, the peach blossoms still face, where?

Towards the full moon in short, finishing nonpalpable past. There is too much sadness and love, there is too much dust in the dispute, there are too many in a cocoon around oneself, man has to go, leaving lamentation.