China must grace, yesterday germinal

Ocean’s colorful umbrella, drizzly wind and rain, we stood in the crowd to move forward.Sideways umbrella propped up, no matter how clever, have arrived, but the raging wind.Barely looked at other people’s heels a step forward, only to forget a little unexpected cold spring.Cold wave came unprepared, my friends and I to the other side of tacit shrink the shrink, or feel cold cold.    Dance Macabre scene, really feel terrible.Two days ago he was still the smell of Mei Xiang, yesterday one looked up and found that Dailv plum branches overnight will hold new shoots, sparse blooming.Spring will return, Mulan carved jade, Tsinghua wind exposed; spring will return, Dai Ning Tsui branch, day germinal.Maung such as cardamom, grace must Hua.The weather today just do not seem to know how to Lianxiangxiyu, rushing Zanko reveal a land of ice, willow branches.Pity.In this windy rain, falling time, memories suddenly arrived in the deepest past, kept in secret treasure box at her emotional flock.I realized that I pull off in their youth dropped in, I thought all the pain yesterday, then suddenly one day actually miss.School class every day, follow the footsteps of his thoughts run together in the blank unknown world, behind the ink is rendered picture of life.I rolled past aside, to outline future, step by step, taking very fun.    A Hanyu, a past, it seems nothing, but surly, I think, miss, want to go back.Impression of the past, is in the mind leaves into the mud, the wind coldest month.I am a man walking alone in the dark during the long, extended time at the end, stopped short, this cut.    Bad, I remember, yes, I remember.It can be wet and windy in this crowd, but I especially miss those people who helped me, even if they did not do anything, just smiled at me.Originally, people lonely, luxury is so humble.(Chinese prose network: WWW.sanwen.COM) in this world of people, most easily shaken, and most unreliable.Just right or wrong, are at the heart.My personality is cynical, early in the morning knowing they have heart.Solitude, loneliness around that time; at peace group, but still lonely hearts.The original past, present, have no right or wrong, but all the people of the dispute.    Red mud dye incense, drunk in love.Passing storm, different people own different performances of the play, like the flowers bloom, spring to spring, keep advancing through the bad.I thought then do not want to think, but in full of gratitude licking, even greater than bitter sweet, but who knows bitter than sweet, sweet do not become bitter!    Wind and rain did not stop mean, beating the cement floor, splash.Clothes already wet, can still hold up the hands of the umbrella we all fear the cold, even in the hands of the umbrella no effect, but they still eager for that tiny bit of warmth.    Flow, such as weaving in the road, we’re all alone Farstrider.Pushing into each other warm, gentle with each other, caught would be reluctant to let go.Hold flowers in the branches, not sweet not the United States do not want to fall, then scattered on the ground is very pity.    A sentence talking about stories of the past, the past of people thing of the past.The idea of what to do at the stray scattered spring, a sweep to fly unmanned.    Outside of transparent glass, clear and bright, distant feel free to go the distance to arrive.Some of the past, can not go back, I remember like, I just blank world, and rest in solitude, between the spread of the ink, the recollection of life.