But since the water is still flowing, although we cut it with our swords and raise our glasses to drown our sorrows.
Wine becomes sorrow, acacia becomes tears.
Tears ask flowers silently, and red flies over the swing.
Yellow flowers are piled all over the floor. Who can pick it now? Looking out the window, how can a person be dark?
Three glasses and two glasses of wine, how can you beat him? It's late in the wind. Guo Yan is very sad, but this is an old acquaintance.
Teenagers don't know the taste of trouble, and they are worried about giving new words.
It is said that Shuangxi Spring is still good, and it is also planned to make canoes. I'm afraid the boat won't move. I'm worried.
Ask how much sorrow you can have, just like a river flowing eastward.
I would have compared my heart to the bright moon, but the bright moon clears the canal.
Silently alone in the west wing, the moon is like a hook, and the solitary phoenix tree locks the autumn in the deep courtyard.
When you debut, you can say your real name, but you can't fight for a thousand years.
Dongli drinks until dusk, and faint chrysanthemum fragrance overflows his sleeves. Don't say clear autumn is not a person, the west wind rolls the flag and beads curtain, and the person in the curtain is thinner than that Huang Ju.