In March, people come back to the mountains. Heard that the mountains are now different, heard the mountain is no longer the same. But still holding the hope, just another person speak up. But the reality is more severe than the rumor, I go through the corner of the familiar do not get familiar.Coffee cups are now familiar as strange, the old scene is no longer, coffee is lighter than the old.
March in a small room, in a corner of a small tavern, cloak in a hill. There is a window looking out to the mountain, waking up and drowning, its first job is to pull the curtains; out there is blind or sunny; There is sun on the hill; There was a man there, and there was gold in the hills; or out there blind, eye to try to find the ball across the hill.
March has a child with a sudden companion, from the mountain town of noisy to go to Y Rat. The Hoang Lien Pass to the turn pass through Muong Hum new feeling of relief.
Ờ sewing too, then also escape, the sky was blue, the steep slope also, there is no car intercepted, crossed over again. Y Tu beautiful time now, beautiful, then travel vibes, through Muong Hum, Gia Dac, also to Y Rat.
In the minds of mind keep the noodle soup 20,000 a bowl, chicken can count enough on one hand; In this month, there is also a playground in Cho Ton, the road to Thuong Thuong where two children told each other is the road to heaven.
Then all the shadows of the lunatics, crossing the fog, passing through the mist, onto the steep pass, crossed the sun, they connected the memories of the wandering in the present to the past of the first day of canvas.
March has fun on the mountain. Little fun, shy, just rolled over eyes can not see where. There is a cheerful smile for the students receiving the gift; have the smile of a few children, bring the grass to the spring, make a wreath of the head, shyly smile when someone is theft; There is a smile on the lonely pass, blurry photos that are still happy; a shy smile nodded when she told her to take a plate, only one plate ...
Well there are three little girls, holding some white flowers in the forest, some children ran down to take some pictures and asked the name flowers; I say "sour"; Only you, bitter life in need to know now, I just happy, happy today?
March spring stop on O Quy Ho. The sky is now freezing up people building the hut for sale, make a hut turned out or. Meet the Saigon people on the sale, the face is hard to hear the voice "Sai Gon" very much.
He told the story of a gentle life, the story of a person who abandoned the town on the hill, meet and love his wife, talk about mountains, jungle and happy stories.
It's been a long time since I've experienced the true happiness of someone who says I'm happy. Simple happiness when satisfied with what you have. Looking back, it seems to have run out of spring ... a

Is there a blindness or sunshine out there?
Ờ sewing too, then also escape, the sky was blue, the steep slope also, there is no car intercepted, crossed over again. Y Tu beautiful time now, beautiful, then travel vibes, through Muong Hum, Gia Dac, also to Y Rat.
In the minds of mind keep the noodle soup 20,000 a bowl, chicken can count enough on one hand; In this month, there is also a playground in Cho Ton, the road to Thuong Thuong where two children told each other is the road to heaven.
Then all the shadows of the lunatics, crossing the fog, passing through the mist, onto the steep pass, crossed the sun, they connected the memories of the wandering in the present to the past of the first day of canvas.

The playground in Cho Ton

By this spring at the corner of the road?

People cross the spring
Well there are three little girls, holding some white flowers in the forest, some children ran down to take some pictures and asked the name flowers; I say "sour"; Only you, bitter life in need to know now, I just happy, happy today?

Retain spring

"Chua chát" in life need to know this time, right?
He told the story of a gentle life, the story of a person who abandoned the town on the hill, meet and love his wife, talk about mountains, jungle and happy stories.

From O Quy Ho
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