The willows on the ferry are green. Branches, leaves, leaves, feelings. Since then, the brocade book has not been sent, and the painting building is unfounded.
People can't stay, lovers untie in drunkenness and go away with Lanzhou. An oar paddled the side of the rippling long river and suddenly passed the oriole singing place. On the ferry, the willows are green and the branches are separated. Don't post any more letters here. The love of painting a building has turned into a broken cloud, a dream of spring, and a trace of blockade, all of which are illusory.
I'm happy to answer your question. Please adopt them.