I hope to the tired one, possession of a leap into the soil there is no dust, the wait for snow water Ten thousand years, the shortage in the opening days of the flowers are not old. At this moment, moist fruit, did not fall on a memory in the cradle. Twinkling of an eye, filled with dust of memory, and not dreamy forest left, the left has to go, when you want a customer thinking of the forest, free to live this day without silence.
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