Xuan Xuan Qingtian crane, dies in confinement. Both for the peripheral things are, then and for us the same. To thank to the beginning of this, all smile empty. Poetry, such as washing out dirt from outside Mongolia. Breeze into the teeth, the wind loose language. Zhuo cream mustache bone disease, hunger and sitting listening to afternoon bell. Non-poetry to the poor and the poor poetry is work. This language does not jump to the letter, I have heard various tippler.