Our home, sweet times to, once filled the cheers and almost drips out and laughter and once more precious than gold flows through the day. So they should of course be eligible, or forced me to cherish and remembrance.
I tried to pass those hang it on a wall or on the corner of the farm tools, finding the father that adhere to trace, because they have more than once by father repaired, the shining handles and colter and plain pole and straw hat, the most common folk supplies, all is the father of the baby eyes, day after day to accompany him. In the midst of the mud bitter fell bitter dozen. Peanuts, cotton and the golden rice, and bright-coloured persimmon, these mature in autumnal fructification, is my hard busy family, from countryside infiltration in the mud, hold to our holy things, it is their health and hunger, and grant us grow, and the long road, countless happy and happy.
Suffering is the happiness in disguise. Although we these living in the poorest members of society, often to live in poverty and low, but we believe oneself of noble character, which can obtain the simple and high happiness.
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