my father

That rough hands, the land was plowed in Springfield yesterday also kiss one day in March. But water is still there, otherwise, how can I write ah effort in that land, you can see the solid play of strong vitality; in the rough hands, you may feel the warmth of life. I think we are in a pair of rough hands on the child, as inserted in the welcoming song on Huangshan, like raw cactus in the desert, like a long in those three acres of ground corn. This is the father.

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