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Open the slightly

 von ylq , 12.09.2019 04:07

Open the slightly yellowed poetry, caress the slightly curled pages, and squints at the faint picture. After closing it, close your eyes, still holding the poetry in your hand, and stick it on your heart, as if you just bought it. Time reversal of the familiar statement awakened my memories, opened the journey of memory, everything It seems that at the beginning Marlboro Lights, the number of people holding this book is endless, and the same brilliance is in the eyes - intoxicated Marlboro Gold, perhaps the intriguing in this poem is far more than enough, but the people who are immersed in it are deeply sinking. inside. That is the poetry book is like sake, drunk in pure beauty, this poetry is widely known, it spans a hundred years, has been passed down to the present, scholars put it under a lamp, quietly try to figure it out, I seem to see them Holding the chin, the pen in his hand rustled, and the lips were smiling, as if to taste the little poems that blended into nature. Today's poetry has gone through years of grinding, such as a glass of dark red wine, drunk in fine products. I don't know how he was discovered by me. Perhaps it is the magical power that infected me, and I have the desire to explore. Those new books can't replace the horror and joy that it gives me. It also makes me understand. The original thought was not far away, but it was not touched and could not be obtained. Studying it again, I saw those tender marks, forgetting that I left it or when my parents read him. Touching the pen print on the opposite side, I couldn't help but think of the text on the manuscript. It is the testimony left after many thoughts. The author has passed away, but the poetry is still there, emitting a slight sadness from the bottom of my heart. Inadvertently, the pain is in the softest mood. "Who are you, readers read my poems after a hundred years?" This seems to be a conjecture of the future world. It takes the soul of the thinker, floats, floats, and thus enters this noisy world, there is no point. Signs, if anyone finds it, as the soul says: "What you see is just my shadow." It's just a slap in the face of changing the sun. I think about the appearance of the author, learn from him, draw some marks that belong to me, and touch the ink that has not yet been done. Everything is so real. This poem has more than one pursuer, and it also travels through time and space. The explorers, together on the journey, watching the tides retreat together, listening to the story and telling the story together, that is the most beautiful, in fact, it is also changing with the heart, right? Different people will drink a different taste, sweet, that is a vicissitudes of life, and there are five similarities and similarities, and what is in my own glass? Is it the same red wine with the poetry? Or is it similar to the poetry? Is the more you drink? Still more drunk, more drunk? It doesn't matter, it just leaves a taste - familiar Cheap Cigarettes. This poetry has been dumped by countless people. Nowadays, the charm is not inferior. At first, there is a kind of experience. There may be no experience, but it is familiar, familiar sentences, familiar aftertaste, familiar thinking, maybe these are always ready for it. of. This poem seems to have been smiling at us all the time, like the veil of Mona Lisa, it has no answer, and we feel that for it, it seems that it has been waiting for too long, open your eyes, come back, or some familiar The words and pictures, the elves that led me in, have quietly left, leaving only this poetry book, the immortal poetry collection in the history of this essay, "Flying Birds", after opening, still takes you to the heart of the past, Approaching slowly
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