A slice of plum, red lotus root, fragrant jade, autumn, song and Li Qingzhao
Red lotus root is fragrant, and jade is lingering in autumn.
Who sent the brocade book? The word goose returns, and the moon is full of the west building.
Flowers from Shui Piao to water, one kind of lovesickness, two places of leisure.
There is no way to eliminate this situation, only frown and mind.
Reading Li Qingzhao's "Plum with a Plum", the deceased is like this, not giving up day and night, and the years have passed. How many drizzling memories haunt me? Who is still singing yesterday's old songs after Qian Fan's death? Loneliness, thousands of times, endless, who will pity the water and mountains?
"Red lotus root fragrant residual jade long autumn, light solution Luo Shang, alone on the green boat. Who sent the brocade book, the word geese returned, and the moon was full of the West Building. Flowers from Shui Piao to water, a kind of acacia, two leisurely feelings, this situation can not be eliminated, can only frown, but to my heart. " Reading Li Qingzhao's Plum has a faint sadness and lingering beauty, as well as a faint yearning. The waiting expectation is so suffocating.
A curtain of dreams is woven into heartbreaking words, and a song plays a sour tune. The fleeting past, counting the bits and pieces in memory, seems to wake up quietly after a long silence. The lonely lamp is cold, the lingering sound is silent, the heart sound is scattered, and there are thousands of tender feelings in the air. Who do you want to tell? In loneliness, these deep and shallow words overlap into a delusion, the wild goose language quietly goes away, and the wind is silent.
At night, I always turn to a quiet, peaceful and peaceful place in silence and fall asleep. Some lazy leisure, some indescribable sadness quietly came.
The tired color of flowers is a melancholy scene at the moment. And those lotus flowers, those bright lotus flowers, are cold after being heated, and the ethereal lotus fragrance is still there. Just, just this faint residual red, how can I remember yesterday's wheatgrass? In midsummer, the flame pool carefully embroidered for this season. Exquisite face, refined; Green skirt, elegant dance. Xianju is in the middle of the water, keeping one side blue, and the rain and smoke are lingering, singing between the heads of Korea. The autumn wind is getting tighter, the Yuzhu mat is cool, the pink fades, leaving only a faint scent.
Who is staring around? The cool moonlight spilled like mercury. For whom, I miss you everywhere? Sighing that there is no chance in this life, the world of mortals is changeable and difficult to stay. It seems like a lifetime ago. Who did the flowers talk to in silence? The small building is lonely, the horizon is broken, the flying flowers are scattered, and the drunken flowers are still remembered. How can you send lovesickness!
Poetry is sung lightly, and the silent sound of the moonlight night is hard to know! Life is easy to get old, hate is hard to compensate, old feelings are endless, and there are many worries. Caring for each other, silent. Do you want to sue or rest? Still want to complain? The smoke disappeared, dissipated, and floated without a trace. ...
The lingering sound haunts my mind, and my thoughts are like water, and my heart is like rain. How I miss yesterday's face. Tears fell quietly between my eyes, sighed and went their separate ways. There is only a piece of paper left, which is ground into a wound in a pen. Dreaming footsteps, end. Endless sadness, I don't know who to talk to! What does this have to do with * * *? The gaunt cold. Who is the heartstring played for?
I remembered those poems for no reason, and I felt a little sigh and pain. "The world flows with water, which is a dream. Zui Xiang Road is stable and uncomfortable. " How much helplessness is there in life? It's hard to write a book without dreams! You have gone with the wind.
Standing, staring, not in the mood, full of heartbroken tears. The thoughts that can't be erased are still like three thousand hairs, which are constantly cut and cut. Travel-stained, where there is wine to think about, raise the chopsticks to the moon, put the wine in the bar, say the word goose returns to time, the west building is full of feelings, who has declined the old dream? Never think, never forget. Pick up the moonlight on the ground and weave a heart full of words. Who lingers in my memory? The light was dim and I looked back in disappointment. "Who sent the brocade book in the cloud? Wild goose word came back, the west wing full moon ... "
Autumn geese returning from the south, their calls are desolate and distant, hovering for a long time, I know, just waiting for the bright moon in this lake. Lingbo dance, broad cold tea, cut off the persistence of Guangxi, and how many melancholy lovesickness are carried by the elegant blue silk pavilion. The ink of the West Building is still there, and those familiar smells are all over the house.
A place is red and full of sadness. I can't bear to read an open poem, so I don't care about long and short words. Candles are still like tears, and the past is unspeakable. I want to send books and notes in ink, which is even more incomplete. Acacia is empty This is a bright era, beyond the world of mortals. Where is acacia? Screen window drunk in a dream. The mountains are far away, the sky is high and the water is long. Who knows that leisure is the most painful thing to leave? Looking back suddenly, thousands of prosperity have already been settled.
How many dreams, how many lonely tenderness and sadness. Who will write a thrush for me after dust? Time flies, gaunt face is like water, full of residual ink, endless sadness. It's hard to meet each other, and it's hard to say goodbye. Indelible sadness still lingers in my eyes. At the end of the dream, it was an affair in a previous life that I didn't understand or understand. What is tonight? I can't bear to be polluted by that kind of sadness again, leaving only a sense of disappointment. In my heart, the water has disappeared.
Looking at each other from a distance, I couldn't find a trace, and the breeze wiped my tears without saying anything. Looking back, reluctantly give up what one favours. Who sent the sweet soul and * * *? The red rain is falling, and the lonely desolation is scattered all over the place. Smoke from cooking stoves fills the forest, the mountains are gloomy, and the leaves are full of resentment and sorrow. How can the residual wine in the cup solve these tens of millions of worries?
A trace of warmth passed away silently, and after years, it never came back. Looking back at the sky and sighing, it is like a dream. A thin word, how sad, sings the glitz and dust of the world. Why does the dream of spring flowers wither? Don't be bitter when you hear it.
"I can't get rid of this feeling, but I frown and feel it in my heart." I fell asleep on the pillow, and the leaves were silent. I stroking the golden bookmark held by the southern autumn geese, thinking of the warm sunshine under the bright window in spring, the cool shade of trees in summer, and the lightness of petals held in the palm by winter snow.