1, autumn man/Cui Xiuhan
Lying on the crisp breasts of autumn, with the vigor of the season, the sunset is dizzy, and the crow's cry bursts with the smoke from my hometown, which makes my blood vessels swell and rise again and again. What I swallowed into countless lush years was the unchangeable local accent and the dream of returning home. I sat under the old tree in Weiting with tears in my eyes. Tonight, that thin figure quietly realized my wandering.
2, the maple forest is like fire/the sleeves are cold.
The deep red color rendered by the curtain of the sunset season stays in the rut of Du Mu, and the poems of Fan Chuan's lay people are good, burning the clouds of Xishan and Nenhu.
I can't wait to get drunk and throw myself into your arms, so that I can clean up the dust, understand your persistence and your special feelings, and cherish autumn in the colorful red.
3. Bailuyuan/Cui Sleeve Cold
A drop of crystal tears, dripping, autumn rice paper smeared the sky with a slight blue color, and the golden wind was yellow and elegant, and the dripping rain cooled the autumn water and filled the wheat field.
Time keeps passing, showing my youthful face. I sat down in the grave of the season and found my hair like frost.
4, June, heart cold/Cui sleeve.
The maid Juan, who accidentally fell into the lake, was full of worries. In the ruthless season of lies, she lashed a pool of germs in June, and her worries were colorful by noisy frogs.
5. Midsummer Night/Cui Sleeve Cold
The street lamps at night are flashing wearily, and the smell of temptation is getting stronger and stronger. The moon shines charming light on the earth. Only a few stars in the distance are hidden in the Luo Hui of the clouds. The affair that Celosia cristata derailed and compensated was hotly debated by two snail bees. I can't hold my thoughts like straw and fall in love with the words that evaporate during the day.
6. Random thoughts on winter/cold sleeves
Born in the winter month, I like the feeling of winter. Every footprint on the snowy road is a trajectory of growth, and every cold wind that glides across my cheeks is a horn of struggle. Although it is withered and withered around, how can a vibrant spring be born without the baptism of winter? It means a new beginning.