Chapter 789 791 Sonnets

If she doesn't eat sweets for half a month, she will die! !

"Song Yaoyao, this is not a discussion, it's an order."

Huo Yunque picked up the book again, Song Yao pouted and squinted at the cover.

It's Shakespeare's sonnets.

The rain fell on the glass of the conservatory, ticking.

Song Yaoyao said unwillingly, "Then you are not allowed to come to my room for half a month!"

She raised her eyebrows proudly, and gave herself a compliment in her heart.

I'm such a little wit.

The next second, Huo Yunque's big palm landed on top of her head, pressing back her pride.

"make a deal."

The Huo family has more than one room.

Song Yaoyao: "..."

So angry!

She fluttered a few times in Huo Yunque's arms, and her waist was pinched.

"Be nice and read a poem to you."

"Poem? Shakespeare?"

Song Yaoyao was stunned, her head resting on the man's collarbone, and she turned her head to look.

The original book, dense English fonts.

The thick book is unfamiliar and missed to Song Yaoyao.

Before she died, her brother had just bought her a Shakespeare book.

That book of poems with maple leaves in it should still be left by her bedside. It's just that I have no chance in this life to open it with my own hands.

The surrounding flowers are full of flowers, and the air is filled with a light fragrance.

Huo Yunque combed her hair with her hands and gently stroked her hair.

Song Yaoyao's heart suddenly calmed down.

She rubbed his neck and looked up at the transparent glass, where the raindrops were dripping round. The curled and thick eyelashes are slightly fanned, like a butterfly that flutters its wings.

The sound of rain mixed with the man's deep and magnetic voice, fermented into a special romantic atmosphere.

This poem, which Song Yaoyao has not read yet, is unfamiliar and novel.

My lover's eyes are not sunny,

Coral is also far redder than her lips.

Her breasts can't be said to be white and shiny,

The head is full of black silk, and it can't compare to the golden thread.

I have seen pink, red, and white roses,

But not a single bud bloomed on her face.

There are many fragrant fragrances,

More intoxicating than my lover's breath.

Although I love to hear her murmur,

But I know that the better sound is still the silk and bamboo orchestra.

I also admit that between my lover's gestures,

It doesn't remind me of a fairy godmother at all.

But for God's sake, I think my lover is really rare,

Not inferior to those pretentious red faces.

...

The rain gradually increased, suppressing the man's low whisper.

But every sentence, every word, seemed to have life, lively through the ear canal, and jumped up to her heart.

Plop, plop, plop...

It seemed that the patter of rain could not suppress her heartbeat.

The man saw her blushing cheeks, as if he had stolen the sunset. Huo Yunque couldn't help laughing lowly, his chest vibrated slightly, and he gently pinched the back of her neck.

Song Yaoyao hugged his neck and raised her eyes.

The small face is more delicate than flowers, and it concentrates on depicting the clear facial features of a man.

Suddenly he spoke.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day"

Huo Yunque raised his eyebrows, and his calm eyes, like a drop of rainwater, slowly rippled.

Can I compare you to summer.

After being stunned for a while, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Thank you for the compliment."

Song Yaoyao buried herself in his arms, her cheeks burning hot.

But there is a girl in a small skirt in my heart, spinning constantly.

Excited to die.

The most comfortable relationship in the world is probably the way it is now.

Snuggle up quietly on a rainy day, just a word, the other party can think what you want.

Absolutely no effort required.

Can you be compared to a bright summer? You are more lovely and tender than summer;

The strong wind ravaged the delicate beauty of the Mayflower, and Xia Xia hurried away without stopping.

The bright eyes of the sky are sometimes too hot, and the golden face is often clouded;

All beautiful images inevitably fade, accidentally destroyed or naturally old.

And you, like the midsummer luxuriant, will not wither, and your graceful demeanor will always be graceful;

Death cannot force you to die, you will be immortal and immortal.

As long as people can breathe and not blind, this poem and you will live on forever!

- Shakespeare