a beautiful spring

One spring, I went to a live concert of a female singer of the same age who everyone knew. When her singing voice overflowed the hall, flowers bloomed. He cried naturally when he thought that his singing voice would blend in with the air. As the seasons repeat, I feel like I can capture the sensibility, complete it as a song, and live forever if there is a cheer in front of me. Instead of being able to do nothing on a lazy day, she drank cider, and when she lay down, a cloud was flowing there, and she might have written a song while staring at it. Let's definitely stand there. May this song blossom on the day she sees the scenery.