Close eyes, flying hair, I think of the radian of his mouth rising, warming the autumn afternoon; A blue shirt and a pair of cloth shoes remind me of the temperature of his palm when he touched Cong Ju, which awakened the sleeping cuckoo. The brisk pace and shallow singing reminded me of his innocent face on the road. From his face, I read discussion and profound knowledge. Canju is willing to be his Ao Shuang branch, just to see his eyes that don't go along with the world. Supplement:
His face is still tender and tender, his waist is heavy, and his affectionate place is eclipsed by the proud chrysanthemum. His face is either bright or heroic, and he is not greedy for fame and fortune. I still remember that many years ago, he came to this peerless and independent mountain forest with luck and freedom against all kinds of blows from officialdom. Hard material life made him cultivate the land and associate with flowers, birds, fish and insects. In the life of returning to nature, he gradually surpassed himself and returned to ethereal, clear, indifferent and safe. The evening breeze blows gently, the clouds disperse and the winding path circulates, and there is another kind of transcendental beauty in the afterglow of the sunset. Meeting unexpectedly is a reasonable gain. (⊙ o ⊙) I hope it will help you, and I hope you can adopt it ~ ~