Library

Please don't bury me here. There is a moving and mysterious beauty... The woods are ominous and gorgeous. The crimson autumn leaves are whispering slightly. I say I really love you, gently moving away from the lonely and desolate ground. Sometimes a cold wind comes suddenly, as if it is the murmur of an approaching storm. No one believes in you, and everything is withering. No one thinks of you. In the eyes of the earth's creatures, you are called a group of poetry without stains.