By Baotu Spring in Jinan, your ancestral temple is located. I knew this for a long time, but I didn't understand your pain until I really went.
The flute lives in the Tang poetry.-Why should the Qiang flute blame the willows? The spring breeze doesn't pass Yumenguan; Whose Yu Di flies in the dark, scattered into the spring breeze full of Los Angeles; Yu Di is played in the Yellow Crane Tower, and plum blossoms fall in Jiangcheng in May ... The sound of the flute lives in the lyrics of the Song Dynasty, such as your song "I remember to play the flute on the Phoenix Platform", such as Su Shi's "The guest who plays the flute will make peace with it by relying on the song". I came to Baotu Spring in Jinan and watched the spring rush, day after day, night after night, day and night. I suspect that you gave strength to these three springs, and they stained your aura, so they surged so beautifully.
I came under your statue, and now you have a standard statue. Although few people have known your appearance since ancient times, the world began to attach importance to it, barely found a sentence about your appearance, and then crafted it carefully before coming out with this statue.
but, I know, this is not what you want, and it is counterproductive. In order to satisfy their own selfish desires, the world has created a statue without blood and meat. This is not you, this is not you.
I am standing at your feet, with inexplicable bitterness in my heart, but no one knows. I suspect that your soul came to me after thousands of years, telling me your grievances and your helplessness.
but, I think, even so, I can't understand you.
In early spring, the sunshine is warm, and young trees are blooming. I walked with my head down and my mind was full of your words, so beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful that people dare not look straight.
I know your happiness, such as "Minced Magnolia"-you can buy a spring flower when you sell it. Tears are dyed lightly and evenly, with traces of rosy clouds and dew. Afraid of lang guessed that slave noodles are not as good as flower noodles. The cloud temples are slanting, and I want to teach Lang to compare and watch. Your happiness with Zhao Mingcheng is so beautiful, but it is fleeting. Waiting on your future road is endless sadness. "Slow Voice" is a bloody book, but "Like a Dream" shows an open-minded woman coming out of her misery.
when I walked out of your ancestral temple, I looked back. I saw a boat carrying a beautiful woman and her life-long sadness, coming all the way along the river of years.
the alley is cramped: the fog is wet on the balcony
There will be some things that suddenly break into your heart when you least expect them, making you unprepared.
that's the alley in my memory. That is a rainy lane, that is a narrow rainy lane.
There isn't a lilac-like girl in plain clothes, only my hometown elders.
In my dreams, I often go back to that alley, where my childhood dreams are recorded. That's where dreams begin. I vaguely remember that at a sunny noon, I woke up from my sleep, yawned, and then drifted off and smelled a burst of flowers.
I don't know who picked the wild flowers pinned on the door in the wild and who quietly pinned them on my door. He (she) not only gave me a bunch of flowers, but also gave me the sweetness in my sleep, the fragrance after waking up, and an excellent mood.
I think before I wake up, he or she has walked out of that alley, the alley where I live. That alley is so short, so short, as short as a yearning in the morning.
The sunshine in the morning is so naughty. It makes my eyes laugh happily. I felt something whispering in my ear. It was the sound of the morning sun. I felt something kissing my cheeks again, and I knew it was sunshine.
What's slipping on my face? It's my tears.
am I touched by the morning light? No, what moved me was the bouquet of flowers and the person who offered them.
I finally know that there are still some people who care about me and my lonely soul in this world. So he sent me a bunch of flowers and his heart at the same time.
it's not just a bunch of flowers, it's a beating heart.
are you satisfied?