When I was a child, the house was a row of blue tiles and red bricks. Joy dwells inside, and childlike joy grows outside. The rain comes to flow the pearls and the houses are retained, the rain goes to the swallows and flies the low branches, the rain moistens the pears are exceptionally crispy, and the rain wet cherries are ripe.

When I grew up, the house was a low-rise building. Innocence lives inside, and youth is busy outside. Climb high every month to share Chanjuan, remember your life every time you are missing, drink all the wine at home every year, and tell each other about friendship.

Later, the house was a pile of yellow mulberry earth. The yellow paper is piled up at one end, and the money is at the other end. In the spring, the upper yuan adds a few pinch, the summer comes to the middle yuan to sacrifice the ancestors, the autumn comes to the chongyang and the dogwood, and the winter comes to the lower yuan to drive out the bitterness.

Nowadays, the houses are made of silver and gold. Debt is always at the forefront. The pompous is behind. For the demand to compare and show, to provoke praise in front of others, to solicit marriage customs, for the wish to ask for children and grandchildren.

"I Am the Emperor of Freedom" 21, the house (time version) is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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