In the spring of March, the willow silk caresses gently, and the pear blossoms are as white as rain and snow.
The sweetheart cuddles up in the willow dream, and the snow-white pear blossoms brush against her eyelashes, her shoulders, her waist...
The sound of the flute in my memory was melodious and melodious, but as time went by, everything had changed...
She said: The pear blossom dream at that time had long been buried...
Carved cage