Butterflies love flowers, flowers love butterflies, flowers bloom in pinellia, and the world's most beautiful bead curtains lock the window sill with green.
There are wild chrysanthemums on the lonely sill, half a piece of sad smoke, orchids in the empty valley weeping dew, swallows flying away in pairs, and pedestrians in a hurry. The setting sun covers the curtains, thin rays of rays of rays of sunlight slanting on the village, and the dawn breeze blows through the Zhuhu. The cloth is used as a fur coat, the setting sun covers the night and the night is slightly cold. The breeze asks the bright moon. The bright moon does not understand the sorrow and hatred in the world, and does not understand the pain of separation.
A trace of drizzle, accompanied by the chill of the west wind last night; a wisp of green smoke, haunting the soul in and out of dreams; a journey of mountains, a journey of water, a river of autumn water, full of sorrow of separation; a trace of pain, Thousands of miles away, thousands of mountains and thousands of miles away, the ground is covered with ruins and fallen flowers.
It’s spring again, flowers are blooming, I’m hunkering down at my desk, working hard on a boat, the slanting wind and drizzle hit the city, and my mind is flying to the south of the Yangtze River. Year after year, rain, snow, wind and frost blow away the white hair. When the winter wind blows away next year, kapok flowers bloom in the world. Winter is gone and spring is coming, the setting sun is warm, the remaining snow on the branches is dripping with tears, and the thin water is flowing to see the spring flowers.
The autumn wind blows, the flowers fade to red, and the green leaves are a little darker. When the swallows fly away, the green water surrounds the boat.
Red beans grow in the south, and a few branches will appear in spring. The apricot blossoms are fragrant, the spring rain is free and easy, and the stone bridges in the small town are knotted with lilacs. When the geese return in spring, the distant shadow of the solitary sail will dock. The river and the sky are of the same color, the wind and rain pavilion is swaying, the night is vast, and at the end of the world, the sun and moon mountains stand proudly, and the everlasting azalea rises. The king of Xiang is like the bright moon, and the beautiful woman is like the mist. The beautiful woman is dancing lightly in colorful clothes, and the king is playing a flute and composing meditative music. The southern red beans are lightly stained with soil, and the earthy fragrance spreads the acacia dirt.
The window sill is made of colored glass. Glazed mourning, dripping cinnabar tears, leaving a deep mark; the lingering wind and cold moon, playing the harp and sheng; blue silk sleeves, wiping the teardrops; snow-dyed hair, sunset face, looking forward to the coming of spring; looking to the end of the world, eyes piercing, looking forward to you Return.
I would like to be a winged bird in heaven, and a twig on earth. Among the men and women in the world, who wants to fly together, like birds flying in circles; who wants to put down roots, connect branches, and climb up the windowsill; birds return to their nests at sunset, the moon sets and the sky breaks at dawn; returning swans fly tirelessly, crossing thousands of mountains and rivers; for whom is the lover? Haggard, Zhengren looks at the moon and feels sad; Yiren's tears are like summer foam, and the phantom is shattered by teardrops; Yiren, once looks at the charming city, and then looks at the charming country.
The fur clothes are wet with tears, the fragrance of rouge overflows outside the wall, the make-up is pink, and the man from a foreign country is full of voices. Surrounded by mountains and rivers, the Yangguan Ancient Road is desolate and beautiful, filtering sadness and breaking thoughts thousands of times. People in the world often say that the mountains are high and the water is high, and dreams are broken. The soul returns to its hometown, and there is no place to talk about the desolation. It was raining at night, and I heard from outside that the lonely traveler was worried about death, and there was nowhere to find him in his hometown. Farewell, sorrow and pain, farewell before leaving, drinking wine, deep and shallow relationship, until next year when we get together, we will be accompanied by the bluebird singing. I want to send my love to the wild geese, so I send a piece of music to the south of the Yangtze River.
How deep is the sycamore tree in the courtyard? The breeze blows the willow smoke, and a thin curtain of sand is as light as water. Touching it with your fingers brings countless sorrows to your heart. The carvings with sharp knives and slow carvings are like traveling in saddle. The sunset is infinitely red after dusk. The sky is so high that you can’t see the end of the sky. You can see the rugged roads in the countryside. The slanting wind and torrential rain swept across the wild March evening. I closed my door and cried, my head full of white hair facing the dusk. I wanted to stay in the spring, but I had no idea to reverse the change of the equator. With tears in my eyes, I ask the autumn flowers, when they first see red, when the maple forest turns red like the spring forest flowers in February, and when the flowers remain silent. Yi is silent, Zi is silent, and the evening breeze carries the setting sun.
Butterflies fall in love with flowers, flowers fall in love with butterflies, they peel off cocoons, endure the pain, and bear the heartache. I can't help but see that the autumn water is no longer there, the green hills are old, the green water is gone, and the people are gone. Counting with fingers, spring returns and spring leaves, flowers bloom and fall, I want to clear away the dark clouds and see the autumn water, but I don't know that the heaven and the earth are nothing but a dream, and the feeling of sadness grows in the sky. The vegetation is sentimental, and the night smoke and light shine back into the dream. Time is speechless, and the years have no trace. Who will mourn in silence now? The mortal world is broken, life is hanging by a thread, and it is unbearable to look back on the past. Life seems like an old dream, drinking and singing, like flowers and flowers, like the sea, deep feelings, like water tenderness, displaced in the fleeting years of war and chaos. If there is no friend and beauty in the road ahead, the road is meaningless but difficult to walk, food and sex are tasteless, and time is wasted. Today's people are not as affectionate as Butterfly Lovers, but their love is as endless as the blue waves of the river. They once vowed to never regret it, but now they stand alone on the fence and look at the yellow maple leaves, their faces fade away in the evening, and people are like haggard yellow flowers.
Butterflies love flowers, flowers love butterflies, and they linger on the Qingzhong Road at dusk. How deep is the love? The sunset in the deep mountains and the deep autumn rain.
Time is speechless, and there will be no regrets in the end.
The years pass without a trace, and the flying stars pass by.