The millet is separated, the seedlings of the rice are growing. The pace is slow and timid, and the center is shaking. Those who know me say that I am worried; those who do not know me say that I want nothing. Long sky, who is this!
The millet is separated, the ears of the grain are separated. Walking forward with great strides, the center is like intoxication. Those who know me say that I am worried; those who do not know me say that I want nothing. Long sky, who is this!
The millet is separated, and the grain is real. The walking is so slow and timid, the center is like choking. Those who know me say that I am worried; those who do not know me say that I want nothing. Long sky, who is this!