Works
fig. waves and sandstorms
Author:
Categories: immortal chivalry
Statuses: Updating
When I was young, I rode a white horse and rode the waves and the sand. The long song of sound and color is a feast of pomp and circumstance. Frost and dew knotted clothes and wind filled sleeves, betting on wine and folding flowers. The setting sun washes the red sunset, and the old trees are filled with cold crows. I buried my old sword with whistle. Don't worry that there is no place for heroes to return to, heaven and earth are home.