In the lazy afternoon, I invited a literary girl to have a tea class, and the elegance and dignity of the tea artist rippled. My heart sank slowly, my stiff limbs relaxed, the shackles of my soul were slowly untied, and joy poured out like spring water ... Drinking at night, whispering with my girlfriends, reminiscing about the old days, showing a beautiful tomorrow, time flies like wings, fleeting, and returning home at midnight. My sister's quip tells my heart, "The snow peak crosses the layers of mountains and rivers, and the soul with fragrance and light on its forehead ignites the years, crosses the snow, crosses the peak, crosses me, and precipitates the golden years of the four seasons and last winter, thus calmly depicting a meticulous painting of life, dreams and fragrant souls with warmth. When poetry is close at hand, it becomes a flower, suitable for brewing a cup of old age, and life is slowly dyed fragrant ... "
Today's beauty is like a poem written by my sister, "Pick up some time, they are seamless on the lips of the poem, and tonight ripples like a dream."
Tomorrow will be better, just like the fragrance of "full cabin of agarwood" sent by my sister, whistling and sailing away. ...