Dense-leaved tibetan songs bird, fragrant wind keeps the United States. Qiu Si Song: Lu You wrote an old grass poem on the roof and six new pictures of Taihua.
Occupy everything in the world, wisteria fragrant bamboo root stove. "Ye Sheng Temple Moon Pavilion" Song: Huang Tingjian's bitter rain has been solved, and the peaks have come to complain.
No white-headed Zen, leaning on wisteria sticks. Don: The wisteria is haunting the ivy, and the green thorn is a rose.
Fishing to see the fish jump, exploring the nest is afraid of birds flying. It's too late for the leaves to drain, and the branches and fruits are new and fat.
Victory is infinite, and you should only take the moon home. Yi Ping's Miscellaneous Xin Yongyi Teng Tang: Wisteria blooms in the Spring Festival Evening on Bitan Lake in Li Deyu.
The water is like the morning glow, and Lin suspects that Cai Feng is coming. The fragrance condenses the island, and the colorful berries set off the moss. If the golden valley is harmonious, the brocade account should be returned.
I really couldn't find a poem about wisteria, so I found her wisteria for you. I hope you like it.
Lyrics content
E: The tangled expression of flowers hangs over you like the back of evaporation.
My mood is drooping and I can't make a sound.
Do we look like movies in a wonderful drama with no ending?
I didn't see myself until all the people who looked at me dispersed.
H: Wisteria is worried about the wind, and the more she wants to be brave and cheerful.
The dumber the laughter.
E: Wisteria tied her heart to the merry-go-round and was willing to stop making noise.
Still obsessed with old love stories
S: People who love beauty the most are the hardest to forget, because they still have dreams.
The most romantic person, the most difficult to wake up, the most difficult to trust heartless people.
H: If we can be as far away and close as the wind and rain.
Don't ask the secret you don't tell others whether happiness will last long.
S: The wisteria heart rises with the wind and falls at night.
The harder you try to be brave and cheerful, the more stupid you laugh.
E: Wisteria tied her heart to the merry-go-round.
And words that are willing to stop making noise and still cling to old feelings.
H: What is the loneliest thing about love? leave
E: It's touching memories that make it easy to stay where you are.
S: Return it.
He: wisteria is worried about the wind, and the more she wants to be brave and cheerful.
The dumber the laughter.
Wisteria tied her heart to the merry-go-round, willing to stop making noise.
Still obsessed with it
Wisteria's heart rises in the wind and falls at night, and the more she wants to be brave and cheerful.
The dumber the laughter.
Wisteria tied her heart to the merry-go-round, willing to stop making noise.
Still obsessed with old love stories
I can't find the poem about wisteria. I helped you find the poem "Wisteria" written by her. I hope you like the lyrics. E: The tangled expression of flowers hangs over you like the back of evaporation. I can't shake my voice. Are we like a wonderful movie with no ending? I didn't see myself until the people who looked at me dispersed. H: wisteria is worried in the wind, and the more she tries to be brave, the more she laughs. The most romantic person who still has a dream is the hardest to wake up and not believe who is heartless. H: If you can be as distant and intimate as the storm, don't ask whether the secret happiness you didn't tell will continue. S: Wisteria's worries are rising with the wind. The more she tries to be brave, the more she laughs, the more silly she becomes. E: Wisteria is tied to a merry-go-round, willing to stop making noise and remember the old love story. H: What is the loneliest thing about love? From e: but touching memories can easily make people stand in the same place s: follow? Looking back: wisteria worries, the wind rises and the night falls. The more she wants to be brave and happy, the more stupid she becomes. Wisteria was tied to a merry-go-round and was willing to stop making noise. She still remembered that Wisteria's troubles rose in the wind and fell at night. The more she wants to be brave and happy, the more stupid she becomes. Wisteria was tied to a merry-go-round, willing to stop making noise and still remember the old love story.
4. Ask a word about wisteria. Ask for a word to describe wisteria (poetry is acceptable, it is best to use a word). Thank you, wisteria tree Tang Li Bai. Wisteria hangs a cloud tree, and flowers are suitable for spring.
Dense-leaved tibetan songs bird, fragrant wind keeps the United States. Wisteria Hall Bai Juyi rattan flower purple velvet, rattan Julia help.
Who says good colors do more harm than good? Down like a snake, up like a rope.
The poor tree in the middle was tied into a dead plant. Gentle vines have no victory, hanging empty.
I'm afraid a thousand hands are not as good as a thousand hands. Soft first, then harm, and some are like swearing.
With your strength, your fans will not punish you. Another example is a temptress, who is prepared for her husband.
The room of the bad guys, the husband and the confusion can't be removed. It is prudent to send messages to the country and family from the beginning.
It is difficult to find out if it is not distinguished early. I would like to take rattan as a warning and remember it in the corner.
On March 30th, Bai Juyi of Ji 'en Hall was blessed in spring, and every day she returned to lean on the temple gate. I can't stay in the melancholy spring, and the wisteria is getting dusk.
The wisteria of the Chen family was dedicated to Tang Juyi, a judge of the Zhou Dynasty. The vines are endless, and all flowers bloom at once. It's not CHO. Who's calling me?
Wisteria is haunted by dreams, which is in the thatched cottage. Send high trees in autumn and hide mountains in the daytime.
Grow flowers in different places. Climb when you are sleepy. It's hard to find the old road when the breeze rises at dusk.
Wisteria Tang Xu Hun's green vine with low shade and purple sleeves, guests come to the small hall to stay in the west. No one answered when he was drunk, and his home was near Huaxi in Jiangnan.
The spring of wisteria has come. A wisteria tree in front of the door is covered with strings, and clusters of flashing Nietzsche wind chimes are quietly waiting for the pleasant spring breeze. My heart was gently touched by that flower. I know that there is a purple mood buried in the purple bud, and I will turn it into a warm spring breeze with my touch and bloom a purple dream. Wisteria Garden was intoxicated by the winter dusk, and the sunset dyed the west wind red. Looking at the wisteria trees in the garden, I vaguely saw a colorful life. Two lingering butterfly shadows dancing in the rose, you have my dream. If you have me, you will have your touching life. The heart that opens the window is full of infinite beauty. I have you, I have you, I have springs, cicadas with flowers, grass and branches. I always like to plant a beautiful wisteria tree in my fantasy heart. I always wrap branches around the trunk, and I can't stop thinking about it. Poor butterfly, there is only one romantic thing in life. Why wait until the stars in the afterlife want to eavesdrop on the rhythm of two emotional collisions? Walking in Wisteria Garden for a change-endless insects singing and birds singing, too much content touched my heart. The dynamic maze constructed by fantasy flashes everywhere, neon red and dreamy wisteria fairyland weave colorful dreams together, and lock colorful feelings through life time and space, regardless of spring, summer, autumn and winter.
5. Liao's classic poems, Liao's fine poems and Voronezh love songs, thank you.
I bent down and wandered in a cool night, as if the stars on the river were falling on you. Is it summer, autumn or spring? A small leaf is tattooed on your back, not on my hand.
At night, a nonexistent Beijing city unfolds on our close-fitting ribs: the spring lights are on, and talented people and beautiful women are still singing across the river-whose home is Hotan and? I threw it away again and washed a sleeve in the air.
The texture of the small leaves is scattered in the water drops on the tip of the tongue. Shake it, I carved a heart wounded by an arrow on the trunk. I once loved that Georgian woman.
I don't ask what happened to the flower I left. Gong clanged, and the troupe around Chunshu reached out to pluck the strings on the stamens. I breathe and die, part of which is fragrant. Thank you for stroking your eyelashes and swimming into my eyes.
I closed my eyes and dreamed of Voronezh, a vast wasteland, walking alone like a candle in order to be blown away by the wind. 200 1.3.20. Summer, the failed song of mysticism. Should mystics start hiding in summer? (Where is it? In that place where the light spot is lost, children are childhood friends and girls show off their bodies. Should mystics close their books again? The shadow of the world ... is a dream too dark. Today's rain belongs to brighter people, brighter hands and brighter seeds that can't be opened. In summer, the mystery man shakes off all his voices, cicadas, blue flowers blooming at night, even cracking in summer, and pregnancy. Mystic people are so lonely. He should keep silent. The bitterness of wine and night soaked his stomach flame and ran on white paper, making him too dark. He should be destroyed by summer, and he should be defeated by the cheerful younger generation! Children are childhood friends, girls show off their bodies, and the fascination of mystics should bury the blind era deeper. The sun has no shadow (group poem) 1. Strawberry Garden-Dedicated to the Beatles. Because of his "Forever strawberry fields", I bloom in the Indian summer night. Let me become a baby, lying in the mouth of a grey stork. Because I want to go to the eternal strawberry garden, because I want to paint my face as colorful rain in the year when strawberry juice is red. My song will fly and become a dancing rainbow, then my hand will ring with long hair as strings, and then my heart will ring as a bell, because I will go to the mountain where the clown stands and turn me into those four drunken beetles. Let's walk and sing, roam the flower core of India, our wings, touch the meteor on the sitar, let's sink into the nectar together, let's put down the musical instrument. Put the record back because I'm going to the eternal strawberry garden because I'm going to the fairy tale world played by the magic piper. 2. Going home-dedicated to janis joplin because she said, "I had sex with100000 people on the stage and then went home alone."
Janis joplin, my mysterious girlfriend, that night, you kissed my silent ear, you kissed my silent lips and tangled hands, and then you sang for 100,000 hippies, and then you smiled in the wind with messy petals. You said we should be crazy, in this midsummer sunshine, but you said it fell to me and rose to me. You said crying baby, when you turned off the light, your tears wet your shirt in San Francisco. Sing for me in the dark. Your voice is broken, and the astringent fragrance of fallen leaves is no longer summer, but your pearls are still shining. You said I would burn me out. You said that when you cried, you said that I would walk all the way alone in 1969. When you were on the stage, having sex with a hundred thousand red flowers, I was sitting alone in a burning house, and I burned the whole world. Waiting for you to come back in the ruins. 3. Your light blue eyes are dedicated to Velent Endergroud, because their "light blue eyes" crossed the velvet tunnel, just like a lost stalker crossed the golden waters of Takovsky and Lou's guitar. Through John's piano, I still see your light blue eyes. Even though you are separated by 300 layers of dense fog in new york, even if you are separated by a flute on a string and a broken drumstick, there is no joy or sadness in your eyes. You go through the velvet tunnel every day, sleep in the center of walnuts, 3 million kilometers away from the moon, and dream of your wandering voice. The lonely voice is so moist. My eyes are so bright, I would like to sow my dark, seed-like body naked through Andy's soil, through Nico's gravel, and your eyelids covered with poppies have been growing away from this world for 3 thousand years. Our hearse is out of control, and heaven is wet with rain. The stalker is drunk on the edge of the cloud or breathing the sunshine in the dew, or seeing your light blue eyes pass through the velvet tunnel and stop knocking at the door of the world. 4. Ten years-dedicated to the joy teacher because they "ten years" for ten years, and then ten years. Shadow game, split sun, happy trapped beast, who is chasing your every breath? Who walked past his graveyard and said that I suddenly danced like a god of death without memory-the peacock twisted you to sleep at dawn, how short is the eternity in the dawn? Please listen carefully-at the bottom of Qian Xun, your wings set off black waves. Bass, bass, eternity is a series of rotations of bass. The wind of the reed pipe is spinning, and the dark clouds can't wait. Death has put on his raincoat. We will dance the cross, the death knell and the grave digger's dance. We are going to dance a dagger and fifteen glasses of rum to the song "Ten Years" and "I am deeply tired". 1998.2./kloc-0.5 letter from the countryside-to the first h in Shao Hong, I wrote to you in the abandoned garden of my former residence, and the wind blew away my pen and stationery. It's the wind, with tides like leaves and tidal words.
However, the leaves are layered and suck the words away. In a flash, the leaves fell around me.
Just ten years. When I left, the fallen leaves have become the roots of my home, surrounding a messy heart like scattered bricks.
This garden, its loneliness is like your memory, never crying loudly, just waiting in the dead branches and ashes ... its breath is scattered in the soil and turned into spring water in the trunk. So I came back today.
Move out the dusty old chair from the old house, sit among the fallen leaves in the abandoned garden, read old books and write a song for you.
6. Liao's classic poems, Liao's fine poems and Voronezh love songs, thank you.
I bent down and wandered in a cool night, as if the stars on the river were falling on you. Is it summer, autumn or spring? A small leaf is tattooed on your back, not on my hand.
At night, a nonexistent Beijing city unfolds on our close-fitting ribs: the spring lights are on, and talented people and beautiful women are still singing across the river-whose home is Hotan and? I threw it away again and washed a sleeve in the air.
The texture of the small leaves is scattered in the water drops on the tip of the tongue. Shake it, I carved a heart wounded by an arrow on the trunk. I once loved that Georgian woman.
I don't ask what happened to the flower I left. Gong clanged, and the troupe around Chunshu reached out to pluck the strings on the stamens. I breathe and die, part of which is fragrant. Thank you for stroking your eyelashes and swimming into my eyes.
I closed my eyes and dreamed of Voronezh, a vast wasteland, walking alone like a candle in order to be blown away by the wind. 200 1.3.20. Summer, the failed song of mysticism. Should mystics start hiding in summer? (Where is it? In that place where the light spot is lost, children are childhood friends and girls show off their bodies. Should mystics close their books again? The shadow of the world ... is a dream too dark. Today's rain belongs to brighter people, brighter hands and brighter seeds that can't be opened. In summer, the mystery man shakes off all his voices, cicadas, blue flowers blooming at night, even cracking in summer, and pregnancy. Mystic people are so lonely. He should keep silent. The bitterness of wine and night soaked his stomach flame and ran on white paper, making him too dark. He should be destroyed by summer, and he should be defeated by the cheerful younger generation! Children are childhood friends, girls show off their bodies, and the fascination of mystics should bury the blind era deeper. The sun has no shadow (group poem) 1. Strawberry Garden-Dedicated to the Beatles. Because of his "Forever strawberry fields", I bloom in the Indian summer night. Let me become a baby, lying in the mouth of a grey stork. Because I want to go to the eternal strawberry garden, because I want to paint my face as colorful rain in the year when strawberry juice is red. My song will fly and become a dancing rainbow, then my hand will ring with long hair as strings, and then my heart will ring as a bell, because I am going to the mountain where the clown is standing, so let me become those four drunken beetles. Let's walk and sing, roam the flower core of India, our wings, touch the meteor on the sitar, let's sink into the nectar together, let's put down the musical instrument. Put the record back because I'm going to the eternal strawberry garden because I'm going to the fairy tale world played by the magic piper. 2. Going home-dedicated to janis joplin because she said, "I had sex with100000 people on the stage and then went home alone."
Janis joplin, my mysterious girlfriend, that night, you kissed my silent ear, you kissed my silent lips and tangled hands, and then you sang for 100,000 hippies, and then you smiled in the wind with messy petals. You said we should be crazy, in this midsummer sunshine, but you said it fell to me and rose to me. You said crying baby, when you turned off the light, your tears wet your shirt in San Francisco. Sing for me in the dark. Your voice is broken, and the astringent fragrance of fallen leaves is no longer summer, but your pearls are still shining. You said I would burn me out. You said that when you cried, you said that I would walk all the way alone in 1969. When you were on the stage, having sex with a hundred thousand red flowers, I was sitting alone in a burning house, and I burned the whole world. Waiting for you to come back in the ruins. 3. Your light blue eyes are dedicated to Velent Endergroud, because their "light blue eyes" crossed the velvet tunnel, just like a lost stalker crossed the golden waters of Takovsky and Lou's guitar. Through John's piano, I still see your light blue eyes. Even though you are separated by 300 layers of dense fog in new york, even if you are separated by a flute on a string and a broken drumstick, there is no joy or sadness in your eyes. You go through the velvet tunnel every day, sleep in the center of walnuts, 3 million kilometers away from the moon, and dream of your wandering voice. The lonely voice is so moist. My eyes are so bright, I would like to sow my dark, seed-like body naked through Andy's soil, through Nico's gravel, and your eyelids covered with poppies have been growing away from this world for 3 thousand years. Our hearse is out of control, and heaven is wet with rain. The stalker is drunk on the edge of the cloud or breathing the sunshine in the dew, or seeing your light blue eyes pass through the velvet tunnel and stop knocking at the door of the world. 4. Ten years-dedicated to the joy teacher because they "ten years" for ten years, and then ten years. Shadow game, split sun, happy trapped beast, who is chasing your every breath? Who walked past his graveyard and said that I suddenly danced like a god of death without memory-the peacock twisted you to sleep at dawn, how short is the eternity in the dawn? Please listen carefully-at the bottom of Qian Xun, your wings set off black waves. Bass, bass, eternity is a series of rotations of bass. The wind of the reed pipe is spinning, and the dark clouds can't wait. Death has put on his raincoat. We will dance the cross, the death knell and the grave digger's dance. We are going to dance a dagger and fifteen glasses of rum to the song "Ten Years" and "I am deeply tired". 1998.2./kloc-0.5 letter from the countryside-to the first h in Shao Hong, I wrote to you in the abandoned garden of my former residence, and the wind blew away my pen and stationery. It's the wind, with tides like leaves and tidal words.
However, the leaves are layered and suck the words away. In a flash, the leaves fell around me.
Just ten years. When I left, the fallen leaves have become the roots of my home, surrounding a messy heart like scattered bricks.
This garden, its loneliness is like your memory, never crying loudly, just waiting in the dead branches and ashes ... its breath is scattered in the soil and turned into spring water in the trunk. So I came back today.
Move out the dusty old chair from the old house, sit among the fallen leaves in the abandoned garden, read old books and write a song for you.