The heart is not me, who is the heart? How many feelings surge, all in the depths of the lotus. Writing for poetry, lotus flowers are fragrant everywhere! I looked up at the sky, cried bitterly, went to the west wing alone, and looked all the way to the end of the world ... I invited the cold light of the waning moon and drank this cup of sweet wine. Loneliness, missing more than this, she is in the depths of Iraq, and her heart has flown.
I chase the wind, and the tree wants to be quiet, but the wind will not stop. I don't blame the wind. It may be unintentional. Trees should blame themselves for being covered by bound branches, which aroused the attention of the wind. Heart to heart, tears and tears overlap, there is a pain that I dare not see when I meet you. A long hiss, how many bitter tears have flowed, and I feel that I am on the other side. Can my heart be at ease?
For whom is the frozen heart sealed and frozen? Red lips and flames, you are a day in July on earth. Stay alone at night, Leng Yue drops ink across his fingertips. It's lotus, it's joy, it's tears, it's you!
Waiting for the night, waiting for the dream, waiting for you.
The cicada is singing again, and the fragrance of tea is still in my heart.
Tonight, you are in my dream. Listening to a euphemistic guqin, misty rain country slowly let poetry enter the heart. In the dream of Castle Peak, the misty and rainy stone house in Shan Lan was drunk with a pool of graceful Lingnan wind.
Looking at the mountains by the window, the branches are raining; Moonlight and shadows wander, Bai Yunfei, I think you are at the end of the world. With a gentle heart and a gentle pen, I spent my love time and wrote you a love letter.
A clear spring thousands of miles away, an inch of acacia waving pen and ink, a picturesque love, flirting, looking back, in the end of the world. Love flows between clouds and water, and poetry is infinite. I met you and had a wonderful time in July. I miss you so much. I miss you so much In this life, I just want to keep you when I first met you and spend it quietly.
People on the grass, enjoying a quiet and beautiful time, live up to its beautiful scenery.
Poetry is on the edge of an inch of land, bamboo shadow on the beach, a cup of tea in a bamboo chair, and a volume of poetry book litchi garden. Read for a long time, taste fragrance in bitterness, and understand meaning in dullness. In the red dust, the heart lives in clouds and water, the moon is seen in the dust, and the fragrance is found in the flowers.
The ferry of the moon boat, I will wait for you in the poem.
Lightning tore time, thunder tore the sky, and pale poems floated in the rain in July. Poetry of the wind, lyrics of the rain, I stood waiting for you in the rain, and you became a poem in my garden. Huanying is in full bloom on the branches, and the morning glow is slightly exposed, intoxicated by the first beautiful spring breeze, the light in the morning and the late autumn in the evening. Thinking of you in the light of time, even if there are only memories left in my arms, is also a sweet concern.
Qinghe, moonlight, your beautiful island, my heart will live in seclusion forever.
Full of emotion, warm and graceful heart, I walked forward with the romance of poetic language, leaning against the corridor of time to find the smile that wiped the branches. The red lotus in my heart, the poetic vanguard spring of China Resources, has been sensitive for thousands of years. I keep the lingering fragrance of fleeting time, the deep thoughts of light clouds and light winds, and send them to the Qing Huan among landscape poems, dancing with Qing He and singing with the autumn moon. I miss you all the time, and suddenly, the twilight is boundless. My still heart has already attributed 3,000 prosperous thoughts to a quiet and clear heart.
Light clouds and silent cages sink into the moon, meet the initial heart and think in my heart. Love letters are written into lines of poems, with misty rain dreams in the south of the Yangtze River, thin shadows and small bridges, and people cooking smoke. How many dreams did an oil-paper umbrella hold up? Ships have been paddles for thousands of years. After the waves push the waves before, the eternal farewell. The rain lane is full of chapters of Tang poetry and Song poetry. In a piece of Jiangnan silk and bamboo music, I dream of returning to the ancient Qinhuai River for thousands of years. I heard the slow voice on the Wupeng boat and slept in the misty rain dream in the south of the Yangtze River. How many terraces were drunk in the misty rain?
A moment of mountains and rivers, a moment of sun and moon, a moment of midnight dream, a moment of wet pillow towel, a moment of July, a cup of tea. Put pen to paper, say goodbye and put it down gently. Listen to a clear spring mountain rhyme, listen to the fading of a period of time, listen to the floating clouds sweeping away every month, and dream for a thousand years. Oh, I'm going forward. Who am I going to tell? Breaking the cocoon into a butterfly dream for thousands of years, I missed your beautiful spring scenery, mountains and rivers retired, and how many generations of love? Looking back on the Millennium. You have become my habit. When is lovesickness and when is drunkenness? I walked into the lotus pond, and I was nostalgic and sensitive in the lotus style. Full of dreams, half a lamp depends on each other. It's only the first time that I followed the traces of Tang poetry and Song poetry, walked into your dream and visited the heart of poetry.
Night, Leng Yue, cool breeze, Sauvignon Blanc. Tonight, I rowed a blue boat, stood at the ferry crossing where the moon was full of rain, poured a cup of light worries, burned incense and enjoyed a pool of red lotus flowers. People were thinner than yellow flowers, poems were on willows, branches were like dreams, green, fat, red, thin and fragrant, and scrolls of love were full of centuries. ...
The bright moon flows through thousands of rivers, and the lotus fragrance is thousands of miles away. I am drunk, drunk in the pure and clear baptism of nature! On the pavilion in the middle of the lake, rest quietly in your arms and listen to the rhythmic heartbeat of the earth. Standing in the sky, dreaming of flying, bowing down and carving, dreaming, my heart is light, looking for the legendary beauty, and there is a melodious Ma Touqin on the horizon ...
Meeting is fate. I met you in the rainy season in July. A dream of spring has gone, and a trace of sadness has been spent. A shallow smile, a pink lotus moistens the bow, and the fragrance floats in my heart. There are three thousand things in the world, so smile indifferently. Your mind is as clear as a spring. I am in the depths of ancient incense, drinking the fragrance of a pot of tea, listening to the flying spring, listening to the wind, listening to the sound of the wind, I feel at ease and at ease. Listen, listen, a warm current gradually emerges in the memory of mountains and rivers, with thin plums and pale moons and flowing clouds in green hills. There are clear springs and streams, and there is a sound of nature flowing between heaven and earth, which is a rhythm of life.
Meeting you is the best time of my life. The colorful fragrance is refreshing, and I am waiting for a glass time filled with lotus fragrance in a poem.
Lotus, graceful and clean, fragrant and clear, muddy but not dirty, clear and rippling without demon. I'm rocking my boat, and I'm in a lotus pond thousands of miles away, and there are poems among the lotus flowers. On this side, my heart is on the other side. Last night, the story of Yu He moved me. Cut a piece of yesterday's time, the lotus is fragrant, elegant and clear ... Under the moonlight, the leaves are green, and I am waiting for you to bloom gracefully and charming. A throbbing heart, a feeling of attachment, a pool of lotus pond, a curtain of moonlight, four seasons of lotus fragrance, graceful charm, lotus flowers in full bloom. Reading, in time; Heart, dancing alone in the world of mortals, a touch of green, a touch of white, flowers, mountains and rivers, full of sleeves and fragrance, shallow. Listen to the wind of lotus leaves, the clear waves, the sound of paddling, and the whispers of beautiful voices coming from the sky. As soon as Qian Fan passed, the lotus pond began to rhyme, and all the way was breezy and affectionate, with a touch of pale ink.
In July, love is on earth. You are the July day in my world?