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The fall at poet's pen, is colorful, there are sweet romantic couples stroll the beach, there are elderly people calmly Executive congratulating each pull of the full-bodied warm maple, there are loved ones such as the separation arc lamps mournful melancholy, but also hope that the joy of birth and the coming year hope to reap harvest expectations.
Philosopher in the eyes of the autumn, quiet deep, messy and chaotic precipitation after moving under the plain simple truth, like the firmament of the stars, distant bright.
And my fall?
In the dry soil, the clumsy writhed hard, the early spring of the strands of rain drift, misty cool, thin moisture for the seedlings planted. Boring early summer, wind and thunder, after a fiery toil, the ground under the steaming heat of the crops in the pumping high. on the 1st day flip over, usually in the fingers like water flowing over, Sentimental fruit, sparking suddenly hung in the branches. looked at the collections of small fruits, long and very hard work of the tired, anxious with the autumn wind Gone, I fall on the way, is near.
The window of the shrubs, the green was still strong. As a child in general, bar firmly grasping the hands of all the variables, and shake off in one place. Because of the tight grasp, and always can not be effectively light sculptures into the beautiful clothes my balcony, is I gently put the variables a 1, then 1. My variables, careful finishing. lawn give birth to a lot of weed, a root extraction, there are homes, can there be income, too complex to lay down their lead to chaos The picture, pick up from a tiny, powerful structure, so much easier up, clear up, suddenly see the light up. my eyes to fall, it should be so near.
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