The rain in the south of the Yangtze River begins with the expected rain, and then the rainy season begins, sometimes dripping, and sometimes gradually dripping. What a beautiful artistic conception and poetic picture. The rain fell on the small bridge in the south of the Yangtze River, and the rain in the south of the Yangtze River rippled everywhere. The sound of rain falls on bridges and boats in the south of the Yangtze River, and a picture of talented people in the south of the Yangtze River boating under a small bridge with umbrellas emerges. When it rains, it looks like "yellow rain in Shang Lue". Write a word "rain" out of thin air, and it will pour down, and all feelings and rain will gradually lose. Listen carefully and taste carefully. When it rains in the south of the Yangtze River, who is worried about the clear water and autumn clouds? Who should be green, fat, red and thin when awake?
The rain whirled in the air and hit my face tightly, cold and cold. This scattered rain, extending towards the distance, finally turned into a white curtain, covering everything in the world. We walked in the rain, let the rain in the sky soak every corner of our body, from head to toe, from mouth to heart, and a poem flowed in our hearts, which filled our hearts and quietly filled our hearts with "flying freely is as light as a dream, and endless silk rain is as fine as sorrow."
Road. The road was drunk by the rain and drunk into mud. They snuggled up to your feet and gave you an orange kiss. Lu got drunk in the rain. Drunk as mud, unable to move forward. "Dodge Road, where are you now?"
The rain in the south of the Yangtze River is like an ancient piano, with delicate and dense rhythm. Thought crossed history and returned to the Golden Horse era. Seeing Wen Tianxiang who was arrested and died unyieldingly, I understood the helplessness and tragic feeling of "fearing the beach and sighing the ocean". I met Du Fu and sighed outside the old city, touching the sadness of "where the petals have shed tears and where the lonely birds have sang their grief". See Lu You's indignation at "snow in the building overnight across the island, iron horse scattered in the autumn wind" in "Book Wrath". I saw Su Shi's great ambition of "waving a carved bow like a full moon, looking at the northwest and shooting at Sirius". Turning around, I met Li Qingzhao's euphemism that "the curtain rolls in the west wind, and people are thinner than yellow flowers" and "flowers drift with the water".
Dream back to Jiangnan, open your eyes, have a cup of tea, lingering fragrance, looking at the rain clouds.