The west wind blew away Gao Jiang's dream, the soul disappeared and the flowers drifted away. Remember to meet again, running water complains about the spring tide.
Only when the blue light is remembered or not will people cherish these flowers.
Let's not talk about the old bridge now. Who will draw and count the flutes? A farewell, the moon is dark.
At this time, acacia is inextricably linked, the night is eternal, and the sound is far away.