My girlfriend wrote me a poem, please compose a song for me

I'm afraid that one day you'll be gone.

The world is empty.

The time I had stood still suddenly Hum hah.

The glow-in-the-dark spiral staircase hummed.

Flowing like water, humming and humming.

Your gentle gaze hummed.

I'm used to the world having you.

I've got you, hum, hah.

Breathe and sing while humming and humming.

The meaning of your smile Hum hah.

I'm used to what you give me.

Sadness and joy Hum hah.

I want us to hum and hum together.

No time is there, hum hah.

Youth passes, hum, hum.

You're still me, hum hah.

The most nostalgic scenery that can't be abandoned.

I want us together.

No matter how long the time is.

The passage of youth is changed to us together.

Let the time pass.

You still are. It is the scenery that I cherish the most and cannot give up.

It makes more sense for you to compose music by yourself, just learn some basic knowledge, it doesn't need to be gorgeous, it's a thought.

Replace the word "up" in the previous sentence with a separate one, it is awkward to read! The back is pretty good!

Wait for the master downstairs to compose the music!

Composed music? I don't know, but I'd suggest that the soundtrack is better with a violin.

We're in this together.

Glow-in-the-dark swirling steps"of"Word don't.

Sing it in the tune of nunchucks Nice

The wind is wild, and the raindrops are as fast as the sound of shoes crossing the bridge.

Was it your rush to the appointment?

Holding the little umbrella that you and I spent the light rain and dusk together.

A bag full of them.

clouds, and small copper coins.

The Oath of Jingle Bell.

I'm waiting for you under the bridge.

Waiting for you to run from the rain.

The river swelled to the feet and waist, and the whirlpool of mouths that would immerse itself in exclamation was gradually expanding into the faces of the dead.

I'm starting to feel like I'm on the verge of flowing.

It's cold, lonely and empty.

Like a fish after spawning.

I'm sure you're not coming.

The so-called wish in heaven is a winged bird.

I plucked a white feather from me.

Then he landed and left.

It's not me who is ruthless, just blame the water for coming faster than you, a bouquet of roses is swept away by the waves, and one day it will float into your hands.

Singer Pushkin.

Have you ever heard the singing of the forest in the night, a singer telling about love and sadness?

In the early morning, Amano is quiet, and the sound of the reed flute is simple and resentful, have you ever heard it?

Have you ever seen him, in that dark forest, a singer telling about love and sadness?

Have you ever seen his tears, his smile, his sorrow, his dark eyes, have you ever noticed?

Have you ever sighed that when you hear a low voice, a singer telling about love and sadness?

When you met the young man in that forest, and the flame of youth had been extinguished in his eyes, did you sigh?