You are a lotus in the past life and this life. Do not fight for spring, do not fear rumors, and keep quiet. I have been waiting for you until the fragrance of flowers fills my clothes.

Fenger's poems, fresh, natural, sincere and warm, are my favorite. Although there was no communication, the Crystal Castle, which moved Feng Er, even though he did not understand poetry, reluctantly wrote with one. The words are childish, and the feelings are true.

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  fairy tale

    --- Hefenger Crystal Castle

          Text/line has ring

Can it be said that the repetition of tea, music, vegetable and meal is a warm affection and romantic love? I'm too lazy to tell, but I just know that this is the life and happiness we want.

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        Friend's friend is very romantic

My friend said, who can go home before 11 o'clock? In this way, it is too unattractive on weekdays. Today, you should be attractive again.

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      With a gorgeous attire, you can interpret thousands of customs and tell the brightness of your heart.

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      A few days ago, I watched Beijing Love Story. Wang Feng also hit the hearts of people directly

Don't expect to impress anyone, just want to leave yourself a pleasant and warm memory of the past life, and comfort yourself. Not to look back on the past, no trace to find, no evidence to rely on.

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      Mother never knew the words of doing good and helping others, nor who Lei Feng was, but she was a silent practitioner of these words. She doesn't ask why she does things and has no purpose. She just silently does what she thinks should be done.

    "Several times, I saw a package of clothes, cotton padded clothes and single clothes in the yard, and I knew that it was sent by his aunt in the North Street." An old man living in the middle of the village, who I called her aunt in terms of seniority, said. Her daughter married to another village, but one of her sons never cared about her. She had no relationship with her mother, but her mother often cared about her.

    Mother is afraid of being remembered. She sends things to Aunt's yard at night, and then goes back. But the cooked rice and small yellow croaker should be delivered to Aunt to see if she can eat them while they are hot. The mother went home and said, "What a pity! Your aunt doesn't spit out fish head and bones when she eats fish. What she grinds in her mouth is swallowed.".

    One day, my aunt wanted to give my mother a cabbage. My mother was very upset. It was not good to take it or not. In order to reassure my aunt, my mother accepted this cabbage. It was malnourished and withered. Every cabbage in the family was bigger than this one. Mother often cuts cabbage for chickens, ducks and geese to eat, but this withered cabbage was carefully cooked by her mother for her family to eat. Otherwise, she is afraid that she will betray her aunt's kindness.

      Another aunt is not related to her mother, but her leg is sick and she can't walk, so she became a mother

        Living in the city, far away from the smoke, but the smoke has been curling up in my heart, warm my memory.

      When I think of the smoke from the kitchen, I think of the red brick and blue tile houses in the countryside. It is not accurate to say that the red brick and blue tile houses are old because of the weather. It is more appropriate to say that the tiles are gray and brown. With the crowing of chickens and the coughing of mother, the smoke curled up and circled on the high and low roof, then drifted around and spread along the depression under the wind.

      No matter in the morning or in the evening, the smoke from the kitchen is not urgent and slow, which gives me a quiet and warm feeling of ironing. The light gray wisps of cooking smoke were curling around the roof and the tall plane trees. You could not tell whether it was cooking smoke or clouds. At this time, white haired mothers dressed as smoke or dark haired mothers dressed in pink jackets are busy in front of the stove. They squat down and add wheat straw, corn stalks, and peanut vines to the stove. These crop stalks are collected from the ground, and they grow and shine in the stove, which also reflects the mother's face red, igniting the mothers' hope, There is contentment and a touch of sadness. Cooking, cooking, and keeping the fire are all mother's business. They are happy to do so and never feel bitter and tired. In fact, that dish is cabbage. The luxury is to stew it with vermicelli. The rice is a pot of sweet potatoes and a few corn cakes. If there are a few small salted fish, it's better. Both vermicelli and salted fish are rare things. No