A branch, broken and split, dangling year after year, clicking its song to the wind, with neither leaves nor bark, bear, wan, worn out by a long life and a long death. Its song echoes, cracking and persistent. Stubbornly, it resounds with secret anguish for yet another summer, yet another winter.
用户评论
啵啵ji
2024-12-22 08:28
浅蓝色
2024-12-21 05:21
好梦留人睡
2024-12-22 04:29
傻兔子包抄手
2024-12-21 08:37
南野文。
2024-12-21 09:47