The mainland in the river under the waning moon, lingering and green Ruyan Liu, vaguely like a dream, comes lightly, like rain hitting my quiet heart pool. This is a poetic cry. Looking back at the depths, endless lovesickness and nostalgia always wander in the chirp: My Fair Lady. This beautiful poem is the sail that every lonely watchman waits for.
The sun shines on the mountains, undulating and winding. I tied the reins in the shadow of the tree and let the grass talk to the tired horse softly. A horn cup with bright stripes, filled with thoughts that I can't hold in my heart. In the wind, my chapped lips sipped sadness full of wind flowers: I love, I am a horse, I care about him, but I will never be hurt. This kind of sadness has crossed the infinite time and space and filled my chest.
Taoyao, burning its China, its Ye Zhenzhen, poetry and painting. Such a beautiful scenery, such a beautiful life, let the melancholy eyes turn into the spring water of Ying Ying, with tender feelings. Peach blossoms are like people, people are like peach blossoms, and falling petals are dotted in the favorites of memories, so that peach-like thoughts linger in dreams. Green leaves are exquisitely soaked in honey-like sunshine, and golden veins flow happily in the bottom of my heart like streams. Life used to be as beautiful as peach petals, but poetry was as fragrant as green leaves.
When the fog cleared and the wind blew gently, the girl who was once in the corner of the city smiled like a sunflower. The wind and frost of three thousand years is only light on her charming face, and the beautiful charm remains the same. Her gentle love makes me ecstatic. The delicate and slender red tube grass and rosy stripes shine on my heart like a girl's love. It is a love story, and the flute rhyme of acacia is pure and flawless, otherwise it is not an emerald diamond ring, but it is better than an emerald diamond ring. Give me a peach and return it to Qiong Yao. I repay her with a beautiful heart, and knowing her is my blessing for a thousand years. I would like to take her boating, fold a book of songs into a paper crane and fly with her in the morning light of 2 1 century.
Love is an eternal swimming, and it can't stop. Love is the tacit understanding of the soul, always wading away. For my dream, I keep my promise. Reed will grow old, but acacia will not grow old. The white dew is frost, and the so-called Iraqis are on the water side. Reed testifies, Bailu testifies, looking through autumn water like a fossil, life is still waiting without regrets. Tracing back from it, the road is blocked and long. Tracing back from it, it is in the middle of the water. I can't feel your orchid-like breath, but I can see your beautiful image in the hazy moonlight: "The moon is bright, people are beautiful, Shu Yao corrects me, and I am tired." In the sultry moonlight, your graceful figure makes my yearning heart restless, like the surging river in the moonlight for thousands of years.
Love is like the four seasons, flowers bloom and fall, green and fat are red and thin, autumn is full and winter is dry, and the four seasons change colors. Vicissitudes make love rich and beautiful: spring spreads, summer grows, autumn matures and winter is calm. In the past, I was gone, and Liu Shu was Yi Yi. Today, I was thinking that it was raining. This desolation of falling snow, who can solve that helplessness and loneliness, and how can it be carried by shallow acacia?
I can't sleep on the night of spring rain, and the shallow rain is beating on the poem and wetting my dream. So, in the orange light and shadow, I untied the cable and rowed upstream to find the back of Acacia in the Book of Songs. The back is like a flute, sorrowful and blurred, which is the immortal soul of the Book of Songs.