I always like to put vivid images into the past days
To cover up the quiet flowing light
And a forgotten warm feeling Dusk
I believe there is a night that can be used in another way
There is another encounter that is no longer so shocking
Always in full bloom< /p>
The spring cold is still there, but God is still stingy and refuses to transplant the pink to the tree
Spring is still barren before the Qingming Festival
Towards the evening, bright and soft Thoughts, scattered all over the place
It is in the writing of another poet, putting life into it
As long as you are willing to put life into it
Then, this spring is really It can be very quiet
Tender, a little shy, and prosperous
All the colors and lines of Qingming are grazed into a sad gray cold
Blood-colored peach grove, and intoxicated butterflies
Old possessions and abandonment, fresh wounds and wet loneliness
It always changes with age
Leaving no trace, escaping far away, leaving only an illusion
The yellowed and brittle past, pulled away inch by inch
Unthinkable, unreadable, unmeasurable, unfathomable Broken,
The fleeting years are just fragile, free from pain
And those real rivers
Qingming is only suitable for walking at night, without starlight
< p>No lights, lost, lost againThe night gradually becomes stiff, cold as ice, calm and calm
Emotionless
Clear and bright, only vaguely visible , if there is nothing
Only can we clean up the lotus heart of refuge
Hold the distressed place tightly, and it will get wet for a moment
Stretch out your hands, trying to grab some What, burned the thirsty flowers
Withering in another window, feeling the presence of the wind
The catkins drifting away