Silently in the desolate foothills open
like a lonely flower
bleak and helpless
defeat
from each piece of broken bricks between each piece of broken tile eaves dropping off pain in
any shadow of their own eyes full of moon-like mountain ants
bold move in every moment of life
a short time into a feather lying quietly on the dream of flying the old bell Drum
curl with the mountain as early as fall of cigarettes
dust
endure beyond redemption, only the Buddha
streamer several times repeated the Spring and Autumn weather is still not change his mind
sleep still awake < br> hopeless longing sees clearly looking to live downtown
Temple and the only hope to live green
pious hope to live once the smoke waft
Village Temple
quietly set into a nation of Chinese characters < br>
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