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Chapter 115 September

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    ?

    "September", I saw this song in the circle.  Yes, it's September.

    Haizi's poems have become words, and the person has already left.  The song composed by Zhang Huisheng has already left.  Zhou Yunpeng sang this song without seeing it.  So, what about the people who listen to the music?

    After listening to it several times, I felt cold. It was raining heavily today, and the window was kept open. I went to take a look and found that it was really cold outside.

    One autumn rain and one cool, it is said that it will fall continuously for many days.  Will it be as cold as winter when the rain stops?

    Time is always so fast, people are caught off guard.  September, the beginning of school season, Teacher's Day, Mid-Autumn Festival, approaching the end of the year There are many things in front of you, and you don't want to think about any of them.

    But in this weather, I can't bear to sleep with my head covered.  The scenery outside the window is just right, the sound of rain is just right, and the temperature is just right.

    "You come to the world

    You have to look at the sun

    with your sweetheart

    Walk down the street together.  "

    It was written by Haizi, just the right amount of warmth and coolness.  What will happen to him on a rainy day, I can't help but think.

    ?

    A piece of wild flowers on the grassland that witnessed the death of the gods

    ? The wind in the distance is farther than the distance

    My piano sobs my tears are gone

    I return the far away to the grassland

    One is called wood and the other is called ponytail

    'Destroy my Qilian Mountains, so that my cattle and sheep will not live

    Losing my Rouge Mountain makes my women colorless'

    In the distance, there is only one piece of wild flowers condensed in death

    The bright moon is like a mirror hanging high on the grassland, reflecting the millennium years

    My piano sobs my tears are gone

    ?Riding a horse across the grassland alone

    One is called wood and the other is called ponytail

    ?

    Suddenly I remembered that in the grasslands of Ili, I rode a horse to the peaks of the snowy mountains that had not yet melted.

    Meet a shepherd sitting under a spruce tree smoking a cigarette.

    He said that a few days ago, dozens of his sheep were all killed by six wolves that turned over behind the snow mountain.  A wolf can't fight, he can only watch

    He said that there will be a sheep riding competition in two days. One hundred horses and one hundred shepherds will compete for one sheep. It is very beautiful

    He greeted the passing shepherds and spoke a language I could not understand. The tune was the same as the Fir Fir Cold Spring Grassland, vast and desolate, unspeakably pleasant

    It's a pity that I left Ili that day.

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