Yesterday's eulogy was blown into endless thoughts by the wind in June. The passing time will change everything. Your appearance.
On the swing in the shade, only the lonely butterfly stands alone. Time pushes the swing and makes you laugh. Swing, swing, swing farther and farther. You carefully hold the book under the butter lamp and taste it devoutly; You are beside the stone well, reciting the poem gently: "The water plants are boundless, and they come and go with the seasons ..."; On that rainy day, you threw away your umbrella and rowed to the pond to play with water; You squat on strangers and pull weeds without any worries. I still remember those days related to you, but the torrent of time swallowed them up bit by bit and turned them into a dream that would never wake up.
The book is still there, but it has turned yellow; Ishii is still there, but it has withered; The leaf boat is still there, but it can't bear the sadness precipitated by time; That building is still there, but you can't reach it.
You said you were going to Beijing to catch the exam, so you took your bag and left. Your flute is long and saturated with air, and my eyes are a little moist. I waved my hand and watched your hoofbeat on the green slate fade away.
Time passes in your pages, time passes in your chanting, time passes in your brush strokes, and time passes in your sales exam. I hope time will pass quickly and you will come back soon. But I hope time doesn't pass too fast, because I'm afraid the running water of time will drown my memories. You said you would come back, didn't you? I stand in a shallow memory and wait for you. But I finally saw the last wild goose flying south.
Autumn leaves fall and wake up the sleeping roses; Summer rain mercilessly washed away the fragrance of the mast; Now, Han Han has opened up, and I don't know what will be changed by time. I look at the sky in June and know that I can't escape from the cage of time, nor can I cross my city to see your smile.
I can't understand what those saints and gentlemen say, "The dead are like this." I only know that the passage of time is a huge conspiracy to change the world and things. Deception took away your smile and made me feel an uproar.
At this moment, you are in the examination room, gently grinding away the ink deposited by time and writing heavy words. I looked at you in the window shadow and smiled.
I will see your smile. Because, the elapsed time is a kind of precipitation, it will precipitate pain and sadness, and then flow to a better tomorrow.
Ta-da-your hooves, roaring along the river-come back.