I remember Gaotang cooking New Year's dinner, offering water in front of the stove to sacrifice to the sky, and the gods sympathized with the spirit, and shed tears to melt cigarettes in the west wind.
clothes full of blood, tears and dust, it's sad to return home after chaos. Rain and pear blossoms have been eaten cold, and several descendants have come to the grave.
Qingming is gone, but it is clear, and the tears are dried up and born again. The deceased relatives often fall asleep, and how many thoughts are not in the dust.
The bucket turns to the stars and moves around for twelve rounds, sleeping in the mountains and facing the riverside. When I heard my youngest son calling ABBA, I was sorry that I couldn't call my father.
the phoenix tree is half dead and old, and it hurts the mind to think about it. I came back to the hospital at night with my baby in my hand, but no one was there in the cold of the month.
money dock, the soil is not buried. The new grave in the wilderness is sad. Who will drive the child home if you walk along the decadent hometown road?
Qingming Festival pays homage to my relatives and presents flowers to show my filial piety. Remembering our ancestors and thinking about our old friends, we will never forget our parents' kindness during their lifetime.
In the mirror of self-love, the hairpin is full of green silk. Soon the rising sun shone on the cheek of rouge, as if a red flower had revived, as if it were to be changed.
In the mirror of self-love, the hairpin is full of green silk. Soon the rising sun shone on the cheek of rouge, as if a red flower had revived, as if it were to be changed.
it rained again during the Qingming festival, but I went for an outing without a trace. Yefang doesn't know human hatred, and Longshang Valley wants to be curious.