A stream of water on the title page
I have always believed that only a little ink is not implicit, plain and unpretentious, but cherished and buried, such as cloth. After years of rinsing, it may be old, only old elegance, but its texture is still the warp and weft woven on the loom!
The criss-crossing lead ink is shining with the flash of dreams, the longing of childhood, and the eyes are exploring the mystery. Only a quick glance is needed, and you can also catch a glimpse of autumn without traveling thousands of miles every day. So, no longer look up, no longer give people confused eyes, just bury your head and toss and turn to your heart to seek answers!
Today's Shao Hua is still drifting away in the parting pavilion, under the tired eaves, in the weeping cuckoo, and getting old with the withered image. I, on the other hand, still insist on trekking, just wandering with those dark years, laughing, crying and talking together, just like a child's dream of traveling and the memory of his exiled hometown.
Once obsessed with the myriad weather of Dongpo's ci, it was thin and profound, and time was locked. Sad song, a soul that has been looking for is dying. Fortunately, an elegant silk sent his words back to later generations, and he became a dancer on the stamp! A pulse of spring water bears a thousand years of ravines, and I don't know who to solve the canoe.
Looking back on one hundred generations, the mountains and rivers have lost weight, leaving only a few pieces of black and white. Let me keep warm in the limited years and wave goodbye to my youth. Use a pen as an oar, just paddle me! Turning around, I believe that the horse has no rein, begging for a song-like time, giving my world, passers-by, no need to miss my name, just bow my head and leave a fragrance.
With the acquiescence of time, I lit agarwood on my finger, and the ink-scented figure after frost smoke was as lonely as a blue shirt leaning against the railing. Chineydy, the knife-shaped eyebrows, smiling and lying in the Buddha of the world, nudged the dust of the years, drifted away and fell silent, leaving only the sound of half a night to keep the Millennium peaceful and warm. I just want to ask.