A flower blooms, this life is a dream. A flower withers and an idea goes with the wind. The clouds are in the sky and you are in your heart. I hope I am a lost way that you can't see, and you are a heavenly sound that I can't hear.
A stream of clouds and water, a flower on the other side, the fleeting time scattered at the fingertips, a broken shadow, a wind flower, shallow songs into songs.
After reading all the bitterness of leaving this world, there are still so many scattered flowers that do not return. Flowers have nothing to say, and the green window is spring. I will tell you under the acacia lamp that I have new love and old hatred for Qian Qian. Most importantly, the world can't stay, and Zhu Yan's words are reflected in the mirror.
When observing quietly, spearmint splashed ink, a little gentle and affectionate; Kissing the burning years, painting poems and flying all the way.
A pot of wine, two glasses of wine, the spring breeze in March is intoxicating, four clouds follow, five green orioles are crisp, six points are slightly drunk, seven swords start to rain, the breeze in all directions does not stay around, and nine miles of peach blossoms pile up, which makes it difficult to describe the perfect spring scenery.
Only he is like her heart in this world, and she is like his heart. I can't help but feel deeply but it's simple. Give me 3,000 pen and ink to paint you beautiful. Listen to the string and break three thousand infatuations.