I come from the mountains. I waited at the door lined with large vicissitudes, I do not know how many years. My grandfather was carved clean smooth, but in the years to draw lines in his face imprint. Spring like a little doll ran from me, like a spring, like a small baby slips out of my body, chasing butterflies dancing in the wind. Vigorous summer storm season. Stubborn shoes, cloth shoes and the young, staggered, twisted tear across my side.Fell in front of my face, crying baby, sad tears falling on my face, I can not, only a little broken heart. And then not see the young flannel shoe past me. Fenfen Ran autumn, enjoy the sway of color, want to change all that, yet melancholy piece leaves scattered in one place, such as butterflies, sad eyes drifting doll. He quietly sat silently on me, my cold through his tender skin, his shoulders twitching, tremor I’ve broken heart. I’m just a piece of bluestone years, I can not change anything. Day like the wind, like a cloud the day, a little imprint on me, I am impatient rush days away sadness in his eyes, heal the wounds of his mind, he was eager to run in the same field as the spring seasons.