Broken tiles, detached wall coverings, and the old-fashioned mulberry. How many mountains and rivers have rolled away, leaving traces of time on them, and today the shattered Warri is full of moss and lush. Once upon a time, it was a red brick green tile, lying on a high wall somewhere, accidentally falling down, broken bones. In the dust, it lost its original color, and some were just the embarrassment of the years. But this moss, after many years, restored it to be green, let it be a piece of jade, in the corner of the wall, with joy and the fallen wall, devastated. In the moonlight of the old days, it was a pedestrian outside the wall, and the ladies in the wall laughed. Today, it is also a matter of people. The peeling wall skin seems to be cramped by the years. The heartbreaking pain and decay. Can it be dispelled by the shadow of the tree jumping on the wall? So many years have passed, the twigs along the wall have long been the towering old trees. In the setting sun, the branches are beating on the wall, and the shadows are smashing. It was a thousand years, a tree, and a wall of banter and companionship to the old mulberry, wild and arrogant. Its branches are black, faintly squeezing out a little bit of green Marlboro Gold, sly and stunned. It took one arm for the years, but let it open one eye. It grows unscrupulously, curved branches, and indifferently exposes its beauty and ugliness. There is a lonely grave under the tree, and the old grave is open. There, who is the spring dream of this person, this time will kill the youth of the film without leaving. When you are old, the days will pile up. Sixty and eighty years old, half a century ago, they were children and adults, and today they are old people. It��s just that the 90-year-old is more thorough than the 60-year-old, more wrinkled, farther away from the youth of the fresh clothes. You look at the face in the mirror, and the deep wrinkles in the road are the revenge of time. However, it allows us to go through the vicissitudes of life and be able to grow old gracefully. From the twigs to the big trees, to the branches that are covered with moss on the ground, they are always so lush. The gift of the years is a glimmer of life. It is half-lived and old, and elegant. If you are too young when you are young, you can indulge some when you are old. Missing someone who can't miss when I was young; facing something that I didn't dare to remember before; or Cheap Cigarettes, dressed in plain white or blush, soaking a pot of tea, looking for a broken tile, a wall that fell off, or An old tree, listen to them, talk about the turmoil and tranquility of a mountain and river mokingusacigarettes.com, or just sigh a sigh. In this way, wait for the time, let the time be deprived, and give it. However, the years are still there.
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