The pomegranate flowers are scarlet red.
Around them, the trees had started to turn, ochre and orange, scarlet red.
The wind must fly away and should not stay. There is no heart and no stagnation. Let us make a white cloud, look at the life of the scarlet red, come and go, without trace.
When the day falls, the day will die, looking at the scarlet red, and I can not help thinking: if tomorrow, the tree is in, the house is in, you are in, I am in, this friendship does not change, even though the days are like water, no waves and no marks, I also know enough.
