Sip and talk in a dream; Drunk, buy drunken dancing and clear the shadow fence; Falling into the water of Gui Lian, one foot is fragrant; Boating on a green screen, a poem depicts Fan Ming. Everywhere in the pond, the water is fragrant, the sludge is gloomy, and I am fragrant! Don't shake for the wind, don't hide for the rain, come and go at will, and keep my sky bright. I'm innocent, aboveboard and dirty. What's the harm to me? How do you admire Gao Hua? How can you hurt yourself if you are low? Full moon heavenly heart, I feel this gorgeous chapter. Standing on the sandbar around your waist, the clouds reflect the blue waves.
In the lotus picking song, the roots are broken and the world is full of sounds.
Bian Mei was drunk, and Conan had a dream. The night wind is oblique, the clouds break the moon, the shadow is thin and the makeup is light, dragging the fragrance. Looking around, bluebirds are picturesque and green tea is poetic. Ai Xiang half steamed, flurry painting ink. The end of the world is near at hand, and what it used to look like was written in the Spring and Autumn Period. Feng Ling proudly cleaned up his bones, joking quietly. Sip pear blossom snow, turn the luminous cup and sing the golden songs of the year. Looking for it, a sigh, a sigh will make it an immortal record.
Butterflies circle Qingchuan and pretend to be Nanshan. Flowers pity people, flowers intoxicate people, and people who are unfamiliar with different ways have all died, and how much infatuation has turned into a butterfly dream. Fragrant flowers have fallen into dust, infatuation is like butterflies, memories are like flowers, butterflies depend on flowers, flowers cherish people, people have gone, glitz is ignored, and flowers sleep alone. Miss like a rainbow, colorful can overflow, I asked when the butterfly dream will return, the people who were drunk on the colorful bridge on Qixi, and those who were intoxicated with pacing had already mourned and shed tears.
With a touch of warmth, with a touch of missing, I pushed open the heavy door, with memories and missing, looking for thousands of scenery in the depths of the season. Peach blossoms, dust and fog, carved cases, wet ink, small red characters, all about your past, all about your fragments, such as happy sentences in the rhyme of ancient poetry, quietly falling into disarray, embarrassing words, and so on, are deeply engraved in my heart.
I don't know how to worry about the rain in Mao Mao, but I want to be stronger with the wind. Sleeve flowers, shake off the cloud pool. Drunk in the flower water, drunk in the words, misty, swaying in the rain, always like willow makeup, spotless, can not help but pick up the jasper that once ravaged, drunk in the wind, drunk in the rain, drunk in the dream, quietly listening to the whispers of raindrops. A kind of sadness that seems like a lifetime ago deeply touched the gentle memory. A little sour taste, a few sad poems.
Smile, quietly elegant, leisurely near the water. The world of mortals is like a dream, stepping on the folds of the years and stepping on the poems that have been popular for thousands of years. A tear, like yesterday, lingered at the ferry for thousands of years. bloom died, peach blossoms were unfamiliar, Ying Ying was speechless, and flowers fell with people. Green dew in hand, light sleeves in white, walking alone in the valley, if the water condenses, you can know friends far away.
After the rain, Lanting dreamed of going ashore. When still water moves, the rainbow is hazy and the wind is hazy. Light smoke leads swallows through the clouds, and the color screen shines in front of the flowers. Don't get drunk with the breeze, the grass will follow Yutian Shu. Building in the depths of Suzuki, larks sing clearly. The dew is crystal clear, and the rain forest is fragrant in bloom. Light dance steps, swaying the dream tea fragrance. Colorful butterflies love flowers, fragrant and intoxicating. The sunset is red, and the breeze calms the west. Xiao Xiaomudi, a quiet dream drunk in front of the rain, has a satisfying fragrance.
It refers to twisting ancient scrolls, and the book is lingering. The tree in front of the window is more graceful than the snow. Wearing a plain clothes, if the willow blows, it is a pure heart to sing about China and India in the south of the Yangtze River. Holding a jade wool in hand, I draw a human heart in ink, draw a bridge next to the railing, stroke a touch of autumn mourning, step on the ink-scented words, and only the shadow is thin in the misty rain.
Clouds are flowing, misty rain is in the distance, and dust is flying in the air. One sleeve is elegant and thin, and the sky is slightly shallow. I am intoxicated with a lot of mysterious pen and ink, fragrant words in poems, and the shallow strokes of the Phantom of the Opera. When I arrived at Lu 'an levee, I wrote a poem word for word, which was self-generated, somewhat elegant and somewhat bitter. A book of ink marks, half a volume of clear words, lotus full of grace, butterfly dance. Crystal words, delicate as silk, bloom flowers fall all over the sky in full bloom, misty rain sounds fleeting.
The autumn water is boundless and the moon shadow is sparse, which can't bear much lovesickness and trouble. The shadow on the blue boat is thin, leaning against the railing, falling flowers and tears. Moonlight is like water and stars are like eyes. Silver moonlight filled the cold leaves in late autumn, and the rustling autumn wind stained a pool of frustration. Autumn is getting stronger, the night is cool, and residual flowers are everywhere. I don't know where I came from! In autumn, you will write down all your sorrows. In autumn, you will feel sad. Whose sadness have you touched in autumn?
/kloc-In the south of the Yangtze River in October, fireworks are gorgeous, so it is advisable to travel and walk. On the waterfront of Gui Xiang, stone bridges lie on willows, which should be sunny and rainy. White walls and tiles, pavilions, wine and poetry. Narrow alleys, secluded gardens and elegant courtyards should be carved and sealed. Oil umbrella lamp shadow, porch eaves dripping, should float should be ignored. The purple sand is clear, and the boat is rowing. It should be moving in silence. With light sleeves and full steps, Li Niang looks back and should trace and wipe. Wu Nong's soft words, monthly tune and comment on the piano, should be poured and tasted. Ink and wash style, flowing pictures, should be drunk and dream.
Looking forward to the full moon, I am surprised by Qian Qian's voice. Hazy handwriting, yellowed epic, rubbings of pages, Yuanqu of Han Fu, winding roofs, Tang poetry and Song poetry, all of which are integrated into Sanqiu. The end of the time buried the painful wound and turned into a scattered sadness. A beautiful woman tears her intestines. The lips are crimson, the rain touches the phoenix tree, the eyebrows are wet with tears, the carmine is red, the green rhyme becomes a butterfly, the porcelain is crisp, and the blue and white flowers are scattered. The whole world is beautiful, and a song of acacia is played.
The flower shadow is melancholy, the sake invites the dream to drink, the clouds are about to drip, the ice moon bay is cold, the ink and jade beads are dripping, the essence is exhausted, the powder tears are raining, the pen and ink sing with the blue, and the beauty is fascinated by the peach blossom dream, but it is empty. If you want to enjoy the Yuanyang, you don't want to enjoy the fairy. The flower rain is the core, and the picture scroll is strange in the snow, but the dew can't be so fine. A plum blossom blooms in the courtyard, birds fall on the branches to listen to the broken rain, mottled stars are fascinated by Kazuki Watanabe musician Mo, and they monopolize the enchanting music.