Stacked mountains stand still, clouds are slightly blue, inviting rainbow bias. The wind that with its blowing temple forms the twilight at the horizon border, The oceans droop, the beautiful sound of the swirling waves nun melun.
The plain with which the leaves leave the branches, giving up the twigs that have been laid long enough. Bury it with the sweetness of color on the soft fruits again tasty in taste, sweet again easy to remember.
Like me in the poem for you, like me in a poem for you to perfect half my religion.