Love is in late autumn, my other shore, your dock,
Hold up a warm yellow lamp and ignite the tenderness of that eye.
Hope, a dignified fate, and an unforgettable sadness,
Fill a glass of silence, drink it, your broken, my pain.
The taste is full of sadness and sadness, singing songs from previous lives.
There came the clarinet flute and the silent crying hourglass.
A hundred turns to the ileum, a love, a drop of blue tears.
Build a barren hill, bury the Terracotta Warriors and Horses in Seqiu and dream a purple dream.
two
Love is in late autumn, my loneliness, your loneliness.
Tighten the windy neckline and find a home for the helpless heart.
Deep grip, never cold warmth, restart the rational Xuanwu with the depth after silence,
The lighthouse of the road, the direction of the wind, the foot of long-term love.
Gently stepping on the inner tenderness, but reluctant to give up,
The heart is settling, and the blooming of a Zen flower has extinguished the idea of wandering.
Soak in a frosty leaf and taste the bitter cup buried deep in your heart.
The call from the wind blew a line of egrets and settled in Zizhu Garden.
When I wake up at my pillow, Yi An's bleak poems are as unbearable to read as a dream. ...
three
Love is in late autumn, my call, your look back,
I said timidly, count the thousands of olive trees you planted with your heart.
* * * Listen to a song about crossing the moon in the mountains. Who is the sunset in autumn mourning, and who is the relic in Gabla?
A drop of rouge tears wakes a bodhi.
Raise your favorite hand, and the silent night bell rings the charm of the lotus pond reflecting the moon.
Two unreachable snow-capped mountains, under your fingertips, turn into a curtain of waterfalls.
I can smell my own body fragrance from a distance, which is a faint sandalwood smell.
Close your eyes slightly, make a yoga lotus seed, and let this sandalwood of love curl into your mouth, eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind.