月,从黑发中流过,风传播爱的信息,将黑发,一点点染白。童年,桂花树下,透过缝隙照下的阳光把你的黑发照得很黑很亮,那头黑发站在风中,轻轻地微笑着,望着不远处一跳一跳的短发,满是欢乐的笑声。成长过程中,因为我的幼稚,常常让你事无巨细地想得很多,做得很多,可我总是在跟你抱怨自己太忙太累,像一只停不下的陀螺不眠不休地 Month, through the dark hair, the wind spread the love of information, the black hair, a little dyed white. Childhood, sweet-scented osmanthus trees, through the gap according to the sun shines on your black hair very dark, dark hair standing in the wind, gently smiling, looking at a jump not far away Short hair, full of laughter. Growing up, because of my naivety, you often make a lot of things think a lot, much done, but I always tell you complacent too busy and too tired, like a spinning topless sleeplessly