The flowers are deep and the building is deep, and the curtain is half rolled and the east wind is soft. Spring back to Cui Mo, Pingsha is tender, and Jin Yang is shallow. It's too late to urge flowers, but it's rainy, cold and warm. I hate the world of wheatgrass, but tourists don't appreciate it, so they give it to Yingying and Yan.
Loneliness depends on lofty ideals. Go to the South Building and return to yan zhen. The golden hairpin fights the grass, the green silk bridles, and the wind blows it away. Luo's fragrance is fragrant, and Cui's tears are bitter. It is ecstasy, and it is also a thin smoke and a faint moon. When it is divided, the sound is broken.