Suddenly on the evening cloud, west window is not even months. Flowers from the surplus candle sticks, playable not fold. Days of wind bells, candle blowing off hastily. Unfortunately, the book under the window, less time thirty-four leaves.
When the evening is decorated with the window after the rain I did give out the mountains here, the depth of detection Oh breath on the windowpane Finger painting and then a long road And the end of the road A back Some people away from the rain