Civil: Nocturnal rain wintersweetSpring, it is a kind of mood. | | | Come from fierce when hill call, in the memory that drags me chiliad culture. We stroke musical instrument, our Xi Wu, we play a vertical bamboo flute, our mirth. It is insurgent that this spring is destined, the longing with vast mist-covered water, resemble Tao Yuan the peach blossom of bright gentleman, brilliant blossoms. | | | You say, I am the flower that fierce should sleep on dew on hill, fine dirt is not caught. We are together in the dream of Chinese traditional culture, pull a hand together, pull on your hand, my hand, pull close, pull again close. You listen, the sound that spring breeze stroke crosses stamen is so Orphean, a classic thread-bound book is enough include everythings on earth, not the heartbeat of domesticate? | | | Go is fierce become hill? Look up, bird sound calls the moon come out, big round! Summer camp of Wu Dangling cloud