There are creeping grasses in the wild, and there is no dew.
There is a beautiful person, as graceful as clear air.
Meng Wanyang always felt that this poem did not seem to be written about her.
A bit like Huang Qiuchi.
——For example, he stood by the playground, his smile wafting in the warm wind.
#The first time I wrote Sui Laijia:
-Limited writing skills, ideas and time
- Lock text for modification at any time
- Maybe writing this reminds me of the stress in real life.
- It should be he
Intention: Although life is small, it is magnificent in burning