"Crying of Flowers" The crooked and dark body holds up a wisp of plum blossoms, the beauty of winter snow. For a moment, th
"Crying of Flowers" The crooked and dark body holds up a wisp of plum blossoms, the beauty of winter snow. For a moment, the sight of the branches widens the distance between life and death. This is the voice of the ancient branches, the snowflakes. Flying in the distorted vision, I want to tear apart time. I haven't leaned out to look for the wind. My throat filled with wind only lets out a burst of sobs. My frozen feet can't open the winter's seal at last. Even if the clock is reversed for a week, it still can't turn back your silver in winter. I have kissed the charming spotted shadow under the bundle, and I will point this life and the care of the past life far away in the direction of home. Carefully bury the flowers but cannot fly back. Don’t block the swallows with withered grass from the door. In this winter is not over yet. Under the walls of the courtyard, put aside the luxuriant years and witness a very beautiful scene - the weeping red plum blossoms in winter