Ten years of life and death are so uncertain that they cannot be forgotten without thinking about them. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, nowhere to say desolation. Even if we meet, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.
At night, I suddenly returned home with a deep dream, and I was dressing up outside the small window. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the broken part of the intestines will be cut off every year, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pines.
It’s hard to say goodbye when we meet, the east wind is powerless and the flowers are withered.
Spring silkworms will not run out of silk until they die, and wax torches will not dry until they turn to ashes.
When you look into the mirror at dawn, you are worried about the clouds on your temples. When you sing at night, you should feel the cold moonlight.
There is not much way to get to Pengshan, and the blue bird is diligent in visiting.