I hope there is a sound of wind, but no one's name has ever been heard
I'm under the window eaves, hoping for the wind to come
The years are so good, but my heart is not deceived
Pure as a silver mirror, its words cannot be understood
I hope the wind will come and let my thoughts fly with it.
Blowing the forehead hair will also disturb the silent heart.
PS: This is my first time writing an article, so I just want to write casually. The author is still a primary school student. If you don't like it, don't comment. You are welcome to join the author in eating chicken with pesticides. . . .