Snow in Zhao Wei in May
On the fault in May, time slowed down. Time has turned into snow. Wrinkled silver wrapped in pure white like the wings of an angel kissing Apollo's wind, warm and ignorant. Touching every inch of the skin in the countryside, the lake is covered with scales and the crescent moon is shining white. Iris climbed up the slope gradually. From a distance, it is white, familiar, gentle and quiet. Bailing sang the legend and the melody circulated in the legend.
In the morning light, the unprinted chapters in the poem construct the ice and snow of the four seasons, and the flowers bloom in Pak Lei, and the white pear flower falls pearls are like amorous eyes. The road surface, the plateau that bears the wind and frost, the clever story soaked in snow and moon, and the sound of playing the piano. Elegant time has not passed, the white gauze left in May has been dyed red by the stars and the moon, and the sky is gone forever. The endless news came from far away, and the legend circulated in the legend was whispered for a long time.
I love the snow in the north of Saibei.
I love the snow in Saibei, flying all over the sky, your dance is so light, your heart is so pure, and you are the sister of Chunyu. You are the messenger sent by spring, the messenger of spring. I love the snow in Saibei, flying all over the sky. You dress up the silver world with a body as white as jade, and you melt your life into the earth. Moisturize the green wheat seedlings and welcome the spring flowers ... I love you. Ah ... the snow in the north of Saibei.
Snow song
Memories are washed white and shiny, but in any case, the imprint that goes deep into the bone marrow cannot be removed, and the disappointment of snow is wasted overnight like a flower. Countless beautiful temptations are swaying with Leng Xiang and scattered in the brow. Understandably, the singing of snow, the sadness of six petals and the jumping in the ice all seem to be touched by you only at a specific moment.
Look at the snow.
The snow on Mount Fuji is about to melt, and it is a hot warm wind blowing from the Mediterranean Sea, accompanied by the whistle of oil tankers, moored in the Straits of Malacca. Light a cigar and drink a mocha, and the island will lift its veil. Last night, cherry blossoms fell and the snow was like a gentleman's white horse.
The two lovers, like Adam and Eve in the Bible, are staring at Saint Lucia with a small gold-encrusted watch. The pocket watch can't answer, so I can only watch Haiyan rush to fish and shrimp. "Didn't we agree to see the snow together?"