On that day, a poet met a scruffy madman.

Both are looking for their own babies.

The poet told the madman: Madman, you are in my way.

A madman is a madman, laughing: How do you know I'm a madman.

Poet: Look at what you look like and aren't crazy?

The madman laughed even louder: You, like me, don't wear shoes, your clothes are dirty, are you also crazy?

The poet looked at himself: I am art, you are sloppy.

The madman fell to the ground laughing, and the poet was stunned and continued to look for his treasure. The madman continued to laugh on the sidelines, and the baby was no longer looking.

Years later, a madman is still a madman, and a poet is still a poet.

On this day, they met again,

The madman looked at the poet who was still barefoot, ho, hehe, giggling.

The poet looked at the madman, stupid, stupid, and stunned standing in place, watching the madman continue to leave with a smile, and finally understood why the madman didn't look for something, it turned out that he had already found it, but he was looking for it for the sake of searching, on the contrary, he met it and missed it.

The poet of "The Past That Can't Be Thrown Away" met a madman and was hit by his hand, please wait a moment,

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