The past Autumn

Autumn nights too quiet and silence. Midst of a cold rain in the wind moan sighs, tapping Xuan Windows, broken fragments of human intestinal without fiber wet rain flower elegant yesterday, forgetting once LAU sui-bashing curtain leisurely. Heart bear Pong cold of the night, full of emotions, but road not autumn, but useful for silent, drunk and confused. In autumn, it is a strange sad and beautiful wound. However, the leaves fell in love with this this incessant cruel Cangzhou.

A little homesick feelings in wind-rain in the wind hurt. As if fibrillation in residual leaves of trees, not the publication yesterday of the Green, precipitating a tender moment in the wind in spring and summer to drain, leaving only the vicissitudes of the attack, also in the wind dying race tied.

When parents love, student-friendly, friend's affection, the circulation in your Palm, sending warm as the Sun. Red dust, a heart fibrillation fibrillation through the outside of the time and space, Mr Wang out of the sky is bright. , Alone is, wandering outside the offsite from home. Although there is no ancient world the kind of indignation, nor be frustrated for all one ' s talent as melancholy and sadness, but also the nostalgia complex of ancient people that it is difficult to say. But life must go on, each day is started, every day is over.

When the Orange diffused throughout the evening, the sunset afterglow full when the entire window lattice, Sky Association there are some late birds bear sunset lazy to go home. Can't help but think of Tao Qian's poems "Hill gas show good, birds readers also". And I am like a bird, a wandering strange bird. Autumn sunset so beautiful, but with a hint of melancholy. At dusk, stars, quietly blink, such as child whispers the words. Listens to the wind and rubbing, missing with the twilight and the more strong. , Season, fall into a deep memory, floating in the years you're emotions more clarity before they realized that nostalgia is in the works of Yu Guang-Zhong's small stamp, also is in the eyes of XI Murong's that no growth rings of trees. Nostalgia like spring grass fading away. Nostalgia like filaments, shear continuously, acting out.