Begonia blooms.
Moss and green radish are not awake, stepping on the dew in the morning, I come to you, carrying the clarity of Slender West Lake, intoxicated by your colorful bloom. Since Princess Xiaoxiang's singing, you have blossomed deep love in my heart, and the three-thirds of the stolen pear core is rippling with a faint heart, covered with ice Qiong, and borrowed a wisp of plum blossoms.
Haunt me, meet again, and plant it in a dream. Your delicate elegance makes me want to be close. You can't help touching the rain and giving me a dream, a begonia in Leng Xiang. Don't pretend to be dizzy and blush, plain clothes has a bag of snow. Dip in fireworks lightly, get drunk in spring, get drunk in Zisai, Jiangnan, and get drunk in Twelve Women in the Red Chamber.
A small lead flower in Meishan, like Du Liniang's first turn, sang a romantic garden dream song. It seems like deja vu. How should Chun Qing arrange it? Guan Yu's voice is speculation, and the beautiful image is enchanting and beautiful. I wandered under your gentle moth's eyebrows and invited Perilla to get drunk. It's not necessary to go to Dongtai in a high candle, just a sunny day.
Close your eyes with forgetfulness, and you can make a refreshing confession. You have a quiet grace, folded in a smart gaze, comforted me for many years, tossing and turning, sad, sitting in a deep and shallow time, thinking of a person. You once sent me a note in spring in Zhang Haitang, saying that I was more beautiful than 3,000.