Song luyou
The setting sun on the city painted a corner of mourning, the Shen Garden was not a revival pool platform, and the spring waves under the sad bridge were green, which was once a stunning photo.
The dream is broken and fragrant for forty years, but the willow in Shenyuan doesn't blow cotton.
This body is a land of mountains and mountains, or a trace of death.
The horn on the wall seems to be wailing, and Shenyuan is no longer the original pavilion. Under that sad bridge, the spring water is still green. I have seen her beautiful silhouette here. She has been dead for more than forty years, and I never dream of seeing her. The willow in Shenyuan is as old as me. Even Liu Mian is gone. I'm seventy years old and dying. I still came here to mourn, and tears fell.