Not doing roses, she is too proud, small body is full of sharp thorns; Does not make tree peony, too luxurious, eclipsed petal fan my eyes; Make other shore, she is too solemn and stirring, blood red color is latent and dreary; Not doing ivises, she is too soft, the slight fresh breeze makes sleeve of her clothing getting light.
I like flower next life, want, do one pretty to grow, grow dance peach blossom in end of the branch certainly. Because I love she thin pink tinge color at plain handkerchief only, love him defeat by cool breeze delicate and
