Watching home drunkenly looking at flowers
Pointing to a touch of incense between the thrushes, writing on the forest wall for thousands of years of madness,
The hero picked up the cold sword for no reason, and He Ningyi shed tears. drip.
Autumn came again that year and a half, the west wind whistled and brought desolation,
The broken bridges were hampered by many silk willows, and the bright moon over the mountains shone in a foreign land.
Three thousand feet of brocade silk is hidden in the sleeves, and the candlestick is filled with words that are still young at night.
Only because the love for the beauty is not over, and the ambition is to ride in the mountains and rivers.
If you ask Jun'an how spring comes early, how can you ask the east wind to send it to Xiaoxiang?
The horses on the ancient road return flying dust, and the peach blossoms in the village wear red makeup.
(I don’t know how to enter my heart)