Swallows go away, come back again; willow trees, and there is green again; peach blossoms fade,
louboutin shoes, they will bloom again. But the clever, you tell me, why should our days never to return? - Is it someone stole them: Who is that? Where could he hide it? Fled of their own right: now to where?
I do not know how many days they gave me; but my hands are getting empty. Counting up silently, thousand days have slipped from my hands; like needle drop of water drops in the ocean. My days are dripping into the stream of time, no sound, no shadow. My forehead, know how many days.
to have gone to keep coming; in between, how swift is it? When I get up in the morning, fired into a small room in two or three slanting sun. The sun has feet, ah, lightly and furtively out; my wears. So - wash your hands when the day from the basin in the past; to eat, the bowl over the past days; silence, begins with condensation of my eyes before the past. I can feel his haste, and reach out my hands to hold his hand and from the past cover the arm of the evening, as I lie in bed, he Ling Ling-Li, across from me, from my feet to fly go. So I open my eyes and the sun again, one day has gone. I sigh over her face. But the shadow of the new day began to flash past in the sigh.
fled in the days of flying in this bustling world, what can I do? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush; in more than eight thousand day rush, apart from hesitating, but also left something? Over the past days, such as smoke, blown away by the breeze, such as the mist evaporated by the early sun; What have I left traces of it? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I came to this world ##########, ########## also go in an instant? It is not fair, why do we seek for nothing that was ah?
you are wise, tell me, why should our days never to return?
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