A butterfly in love with flowers
Hard work cherishes the sun and the moon most, one night is like a ring, and the evening is like a sigh.
If the moon finally comes out, I will not hesitate to be roasted by snow and ice.
Without that dust, the swallow is still there, said the soft curtain hook.
After singing the autumn grave, I didn't rest, and the spring bush recognized the amphibious butterfly.
A butterfly in love with flowers
Bleak Lancheng looks old, afraid of feelings, and does not make pity sentences.
The tears in the pavilion lean on the flowers, and the fragrance floats as far as I know.
Back to Old Yue Ming Road, the cuffs are fragrant and cold, and the heart is bitter than Qiulian.
Not to mention living in flowers, people who love flowers are gone.