Heavy clouds take salamanders, river dipping its foot. Pass for Juru, sadness this clay coated Ottawa. Sent home to kill the Buddha Hill, give tired of cramped toes. I float a few dirty towels, bamboo fan bamboo product run. Static field in front of farming, too comfortable when tired head. Miya acres of rice, according to people exactly green. Deep under the White Bird Wu, Ji Ling Ming Xiu Mu. Sense of this song Harvest, soldier-year-old period of fullness.