Plum blossoms with snow eyebrows.
Cold hung over Yuan Ye, breathing the crisp sound of larks.
The ice in the quiet night falls along the eaves and draws an arc.
There are shallow dimples mottled on the bluestone board.
Two lines of ink.
Far away, mostly trekking.
The morning breeze is blowing long afterheat, turning over the stars last night, and Xueyan gently holds up one or two fickle feelings with a three-point smile.
With a little white between the eyebrows, wait outside the heart door.
Three lines of songs.
The apricot blossom love letter has pity for the rain.
White hearts are kissed one by one.
Collected love and love, carefully stretched out a little charm, plumes of dust, unscrupulously dyed red petals cheeks.
Looking around with low eyebrows, it is already peach blossom powder.
Four lines rhyme.
The bright pear flower is a new white, with a small temper.
The fingertips of the poem, dipped in Sydney, walked out of the fragrance mark among the green grass.
The flower shadow under the text window, the feelings are dark.
Jiao Yan's Jade Butterfly, stepping on the purplish rhyme, walked out of a line of quatrains.
Five elements form a law.
Thrushcross flies low in the rain, looking for a quiet beauty in the depths of roses.