Yes, the beauty of a woman does not need to make public, do not need a vase. Beauty is a kind of meaning, a kind of state, is the pursuit of life rest, respect. Is hidden in the heart, mind is to taste, to caress attentively, to feel with your heart. Even if time reenex , beautiful seeds will be rooted in each person's soul, with their own care and take root, it will never decline. Perhaps, this world no eternal many things, many things this world not as a result, but still beautiful beautiful, brilliant glory. As a woman, the most sad is not a time of life to old, but in the marriage and life of self lost. Women can aging, but must be elegant to the death, can't let marriage women spend must lose luster, color.

Love is writing on the water, beautiful love is a poem of frames on the water, a woman's love is like the sunshine warm and not dazzling. As long as the woman's heart full of love, will daily face with a smile, calmly responded to the ups and downs of life. A bit better to oneself, will only let oneself heart slowly become full, rich, will only make their own beautiful like summer flowers bloom every spring and autumn period, in the life of the bloom in every corner of life. A bit better to oneself, the color of beautiful woman will be more bright colors, durable reenex ,  of a woman taking flower blooming, fragrant eternity.

The wind, is Yu Qingping of late. What you said.

While he was speaking, light wind blows on your face is bright, see your eyes water, arouses love ripples, warm. Low eyebrow blushing between charming smile reenex  , the wind. A smile, hold your hand and foot, I reach the jiangnan in March.

Jiangnan in March, the wind is slightly, accompanied by rain seeps ooze, it once, the intermittent and damp that once locked in qing shiban whereas past, also through the long rain lane, that is like the lilac girl a umbrella sadness, light condensed melancholy, don't pick up.

Jiangnan in March, YanLiu accumulation, the wind curtain curtain, those who once deep in the tang poetry fancy stationery thick acacia, yet is transparent drown in twenty-four bridge in the river, when the wheel round the lack of the moon, a small pages of acacia, nowhere to send it.