ผู้เขียน หัวข้อ: from farming. The  (อ่าน 9 ครั้ง)

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from farming. The
« เมื่อ: ตุลาคม 07, 2019, 01:44:18 PM »
Red beans are born in the South, and spring comes with a few branches. I hope that you will pick up more things, and this thing is the most loved one. - Inscriptions like a dream, is the thirst for a dream of midnight; the hometown is like water, flowing in the heart. The nostalgia is the lush field of that side; the nostalgia is the blue and blue smoke. The past is like a dream, the hometown seems like a long. The grass slope in childhood memories can still be so green? Choose a lang, walk alone on the slope, the grass is silent, but the sound of the stream, bringing water memories. When I was a child, I always loved a few partners Cigarettes For Sale, picked a wild chrysanthemum, and sniffed the fragrance. Under the river, I touched the basket of the green snail. What an unfettered time. The grass and trees in the wilderness of the hometown, one bridge and one river, all witnessed the dreamy past. How many happy memories of the breeze rolled up the fragrance of the stream, and the thoughts gradually recovered. Looking around, it won't change, the grass slope is still the same, the stream is still flowing; just the friend's laughter and laughter, a little more quiet and far away Marlboro Cigarettes. I have a lot of thoughts and I don��t want to walk to the fields. The vast ridges and ridges of the ridges are dyed with greenery, and a few manicured men face the loess and sweat. The bronzed face of the sun condenses the simplicity and honesty of the country. Just like the farming fields that the villagers depend on for survival, they give people the support and guardianship. Step out of the field and step on a stone path. Passing through the quiet green bamboo forest, there seems to be no light sound like a cow bell, and the sound of the scorpion slamming the slate is also faintly audible. Going by the sound, there is a hole in the competition. In the embrace of the mountains and rivers, the small village that has lived for several years is in front of my eyes. The hustle and bustle of the city, the childhood of the wilderness, is more simple and intimate. As in the memory of the past: cute and delicate Newport 100S, but it gives the home of the warmest home. At lunch time, every family is in front of the man who is returning from farming. The virtuous woman is busy cooking to meet her husband. A smoky smoke rises from the roof, blue and blue, mixed with the smell of firewood, faintly into the sky, and a gentle brilliance of the noon arrogant sun. As far as I can see, the farmer��s leisure scenery once again returned home, and the village still looks like that. With its unique serenity and gloom, it quietly nestles between the mountains and rivers. Although it is a few years away, the hustle and bustle of the village is still clear and moving.
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