When the flowers are in bloom, they need to be folded, but don’t wait until there are no flowers to break the branches.
The sparse shadows are slanting across the clear and shallow water, and the faint fragrance is floating in the moonlight at dusk.
The fallen flower man is independent, and the little swift bird flies together.
I shed tears when I am grateful for the flowers, and I am frightened when I hate others.
When the flowers are in bloom, they need to be folded, but don’t wait until there are no flowers to break the branches.
The wind is uncertain, people are still at first, and the path will be filled with red sunset tomorrow.
The moon comes first when you are near the water, and it is spring when the flowers bloom and face the sun.
It fell into mud and was crushed into dust, but only the fragrance remains the same.
At dusk, the east wind sings the birds, and the falling flowers look like people who have fallen from a building.
This is a place where the reds and greens are fading and the flowers are gone.
I don’t know where the human face is, but the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze.
Flowers will bloom again, and people will never be young again.
The falling flowers follow the flowing water deliberately, but the flowing water has no intention of falling in love with the falling flowers.
Only the moon in the spring garden is sentimental, just like falling flowers for people who are leaving.
The lonely spring garden is empty and late, and the rain hits the pear blossoms behind closed doors.
I was afraid that the flowers would fall asleep late at night, so I burned a high candle to illuminate my red makeup.