This year, which is a cold and dry season, where are you? Every week and every month, I told you to come. It's been hard, it's been difficult, it's been abandoned. Come back, to the joys and sorrows of happiness. I don't want you to leave my attention. I'm waiting for you to take my dry heart away, at least a little bit from me. So see how this clayman cries. Don't be brave in the heart of this poet, because his heart always cries poems. Get up and drink from my glass. I killed myself, damn you, come. Although your speed is not good, you are right, you are left, or you are Andromeda, because the rain drops fall a little.