One:
Red crisp hands, yellow wine, spring palace willow in the city;
dongfeng evil, with a weak sense of joy,
a melancholy mood, a few years apart,
wrong, wrong, wrong.
Spring is the same, people are thin and empty, and tears are red and full of tears;
Peach blossoms fall, and there is a leisurely pool pavilion.
Although the Mountain League is there, it is difficult to entrust the brocade book.
Mo, Mo, Mo.
Second (Tang Wanhe's Ci):
The world is thin and human feelings are evil, and flowers are easy to fall in the evening when the rain sends them;
the breeze is dry, tears are left,
I want to write my mind, and I talk alone,
it's difficult, difficult, difficult.
Every man becomes his own man, and today is not yesterday, and the sick soul is often like a thousand years ago.
the horn is cold, the night is dim,
I'm afraid of being asked, I swallow my tears and pretend to be happy,
I'm hiding, hiding, hiding.
I talk about juvenile madness. Left leads to yellow. Right Qing Cang. Golden hat mink fur, thousand riding rolls flat hillock. In order to repay the people of the city for following my generous offer of hunting, I will shoot the tiger in person like sun quan.
the wine is full and the chest and gallbladder are still in bloom. Slight frost on the temples. What's the harm? Hold the festival in the clouds, and when to send Feng Tang. I will make my strength as full as the full moon, as full as the full moon, toward the northwest, shooting to the west Xia jun team. Children
hold mom's hand quickly
The road to heaven
is too dark
Mom is afraid that you
touch your head
Hurry
Hold mom's hand
Let mom accompany you
Mom
is afraid that the road to heaven
is too dark
. > son
you go
the road ahead
no more worries
no endless textbooks
and dad's fists
You should remember
what my father and I look like
We will walk together in the next life
Mom
Don't worry
The road to heaven is a bit crowded
. Every child is a mother's child
A day without me
Give love to a living child
Mom
Don't cry
Tears can't light up our road
Let us
walk slowly
Mom
I will remember you and Dad
Remember us.
wildfire never quite consumes them, they are tall once more in the spring wind.
sweet they press on the old high-road, and reach the crumbling city-gate.
o Prince of Friends, you are gone again, I hear them sighing after you.
Cicada
Author: Li Shangyin
pure of heart and therefore hungry, all night long you have sung in vain.
oh, this final broken indrawn breath, among the green indifferent trees!.
yes, I have gone like a piece of driftwood, I have let my garden fill with weeds.
I bless you for your true advice, to live as pure a life as yours.