My childhood passed quiet as the Sun seeds sprinkled down on the side of the road as the first rain, wipe the season fall down on the beam of the cotton blossom paper. The roads to the village full of hibiscus in defending, the kind neighbors trade body in zigzag or sound of the daily hopes forever in your mind. As of noon, cutting board on the xoẹt of rattan shoots when parents sit knitting, cọt, cẹt internodes of old bike when brother turns round cake, rao of vendors of jingle bells, who sold ice cream, calling each other God than in those alleys, buy sell coil when going through the door of the market , seems muted dreaming of a path after the rain.
đang được dịch, vui lòng đợi..
