It is impossible not to be ecstatic, the west wind blows behind the curtain, and people are thinner than yellow flowers.
He walked away in shame, leaning against the door and looking back, sniffing the green plums.
There is no way to eliminate this feeling, so I only lower my brows, but it is in my heart.
No need for light blue and deep red, it is naturally the best among flowers.
The flowers float and the water flows, a kind of lovesickness and two places of leisurely sorrow.
He is a hero in life and a hero in death.
Things are different and people are not the same. Everything stops. If you want to speak, you will shed tears first.
Lonely in the deep boudoir, every inch of my heart is full of sorrow.