I love the leaves, the grass he is a soft velvet

East End and he, going to March to catch a spring em happy. Spring is correct provided artillery weapons. I love the leaves leaving the veteran enthusiast to return to the calm between earth and sky and grass downy soft.
How the dry season, how the wet season, how the nights awake waiting, how drunk implications, how late troubles. Nay they return on the shoulders of the season wearing the shirt, hair bow, chest, a red rose petal ...
Leaves fall on the soft grass and tan velvet on mother earth. I received from him and then fire up your love like a flame. Your eyes are no longer lifeless as before. I no longer heart cold as before. I returned the child. Longing and craving a hug, longing and craving a shoulder to lean on you mind.
In the past I also had dreams of a happy and a roof fire. In the past also have to put them into a river. In the past if not for a bad thing happens, I was a bride. But everything seems to be fate. He is now resting, lying under the grass and listen to soft natural collection of songs. Please do not anyone, not anyone mentioned the old story ...
For many nights I cried and dreamed of a happiness. I thought everything went through will never go back. But now I know, the separation will be reunited. After the tears will be fun and passion.
I see him in the heart seems to have gone through the re-tee, bitter. I met seemed to revive him as leaves fall in love. He is full of green lawns hope and faith. He provides her with a peaceful place to love me sweet landing.
People would rather take her to the river, who would rather their children put on the bride's dress, who would rather go with you on the long road ahead, who will continue writing unfinished dream with me, because children who that comes. The children will stay inside until they died. Are not people?
There are things you put into the deep end em, sometimes a word I accidentally sharp sensitivity. But I want to do a leaf to gently, quietly. I want him to fall toward the bud of love.
East End then, the cold was almost dissolved. Remember remember the familiar rush as people on the street. Met, looked at each other and passionate heart, throbbing in chest breathing. Meet, know each other and remember each other ...
A regional peace, a calm quiet place, a pure land as word ru still rocks. I carved up the sky the last vow: Eternal natural person collect only mourn.