grasshopper

My friend is Grasshopper. I exchanged dreams with him. One by one we compile a country with the imagination stripes, which we call it beautiful.
It is said that his father is the sun. At that time he was friends with the twilight. They always danced on the sharp tall grass. On a warm afternoon. Repeatedly singing poems about the wind and a white cloud. Memories are still stored neatly on the steep. Sometimes read aloud by butterflies. But completely I doubt. Because the grasshopper is so cool to me