You are my summer wind and my winter dream of 39 degrees.

I got up with yesterday's story on my back, passed by the eaves where raindrops floated, and walked through the dense forest with faint light spots. Take a photo next to the fox separated from cistanche deserticola and meet your face in the wilderness where flowers bloom.

You will hold a broken skirt and tell me about the spring breeze. The story of the arrival of birds is green, waiting for defects. Wait for a person to cross the wilderness from the past and cross the gentle beach to pull a girl.

The puffer fish said that the brightest place of the star lamp is a pair of opposite eyes. I dreamed that the sea landed here, and I saw the whistle cut off the view of the tide.

Seagulls fly back and forth between north and south. You always say that the coast in your dream is as blue as grass and you can't look forward. So I stood in the northwest wilderness and drew a circle on the map. In the dream summer, I have a smile that surprises you.

You walked through the snow in winter and the fallen leaves in autumn. You carved our distance under the banyan tree in summer.

Crows are reluctant to leave their nests, and the sea breeze can't blow. You leave the biting cold and put your thoughts in September. My summer is full of half the regrets of this season.

You like to watch the starry night in August, and I sit quietly on the eaves under the moon. You look at the face of the sky, and I look at your side face. When Guanghua shines, turning back is a brilliant star in your eyes.

So summer has become you in expectation.

The river bank overflowed and the birds had to leave their hometown. The breeze brought me the idea of staying in winter. You should leave this temperature for the coolness in summer. So there is no sunshine in Siberia anymore.

Before the ebb tide, I'm going to take a skirt in summer and question the attachment of the left-behind people in winter. Why let the east wind cross the wilderness and let the banyan tree lower its crown? In the winter of heavy rain in Luohe, I stole the attachment of summer.

……

I thought the starry sky in winter should be bright. I like the look in your eyes and the smiling face in December.

But you said you like butterflies in summer. Hand-drawn sketch with letters is also a decoration. You are infatuated with such tenderness and love the breeze in August. You should fill your spring pocket with it and pour it in winter to keep warm.

I was lying under the eaves that day. I was amazed by summer for the first time.

Spring should avoid cool autumn, and you should let go of the ravages of winter. Many years later, I fell in love with the starry sky in summer. Listening to the breeze and watching the bleak winter, you said let me cherish the softness of summer.

The stars have explored the vastness south of Qinhuai, and the sight of years has explored your face.

Where are you on the horizon and what kind of roof are you hiding in?

You always say that you want to send the summer wind into winter. The banyan tree north of Qinhuai is no longer afraid of cold.

I stood at the starting point of the past, in the wilderness when I came over, in the winter north of the northwest, but I never saw your eyes again.

……

You are my wind all summer, intoxicated in the dream of the Milky Way;

You are my dream of hiding at 39 degrees in winter. I want to snuggle up, but I can't see cistanche deserticola ...

Finally, I attached the link of Teacher Mei, although I wrote half a poem and half an article. ...

I hope everyone can meet their own spring.

I'm afraid I digress.