writing
It was a long time ago that I met her, but since we separated, the time has become longer, the east wind is blowing, and a hundred flowers are blooming.
Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.
Xiao Jing, but the clouds change, but she dares to sing with the cold moonlight in her evening.
There is no way to Pengshan. Oh, Bluebird, listen! -Give me what she said! .
It's rare to have a chance to meet each other, but I can't bear to part with each other. In addition, the weather in late spring, the east wind is coming, which makes people even more sad.
Spring silkworms don't spin silk when they die, candles burn to ashes, and tear-like wax oil can drip dry.
Women who dress up in front of the mirror in the morning are only worried that the plump bangs will change color and the youthful appearance will disappear. Men can't sleep at night, so they must feel Leng Yue's aggression.
The other person's residence is not far from Penglai Mountain, but there is no road to cross, just out of my reach. I hope there will be a messenger like a bluebird to visit my lover and diligently deliver the message for me.