Sweat and stars move day by day, passing through the old place year by year.
Not everything is for the eyes, but I have changed my feelings and conveyed a message.
White heads are floating and sinking, and the world of mortals is stupid.
I forgot about it for nine days, and I gathered my eyebrows and remembered the meeting.
Remember the dream
There is no hope in the clouds, and there is thought in the sunset.
Hans Zhang is ashamed of the autumn wind, and the spring scenery in the south of the Yangtze River returns.
Don't dream of bluebird, go to Du Tao to find Ganoderma lucidum.
Once * * * years of sweet water, at the snow temples to return.
chrysanthemum
High curative value flies to the net, and autumn feels sorry for itself.
The sky in the distance is dark, and the double petals are all juanjuan.
Ke Yun is thin, but he is not afraid of the cold.
The fragrance faded away and the moon shone on the railing.
In late autumn, the trees are still green and the sky is crisp.
People are dull and silent, and wine is red, white and yellow.
The rain turns to color and the wind wants to steal incense.
Without charm, there is no need to fight for spring.
Express one's feelings in the form of poetry
Beginning of autumn today, how time flies.
Dragonflies look forward to going, swans stay in the future.
No one will migrate, float and sink, and the world is good.
The only people who can wait a long time are the moss in the old garden.
Today last year, I was homesick in my hometown.
The flowers in the garden are small and the birds under the window are noisy.
Thousands of miles to ask each other, lonely can help.
Suddenly dreaming, let alone disappearing.
When you say today, it goes against your heart.
If you are not arrogant, Jianye will not be honored.
Dream of meeting each other, wake up empty letter has flown.
When you are in another country, when will you return to your hometown?
Die, die, live and die.
Lonely north, I left the east gate.
Time flies, but feelings stay on paper.
What is the reason for the delivery? I'm afraid of dusk.
Recalling the past, after dusk, the sky became shorter and longer.
Wang Chen's poems are full of color, and Han Yan's body exudes fragrance.
Zhou Lang missed this song, and the shadow became a minor injury.
Life is destined to meet, and gathering and parting will be ashes.