Three ancient poems: "The Order of the Waves and Sands"

"Surfing Sand Order, Snow Drunk At the End of the Eaves"

Snow drunk at the end of the eaves, so thank you in front of the window.

Bamboo Shadow lies silently.

When you wake up, the pine color is good, and the cold is eliminated.

The ink drama painting is wordless, and the intention is biased.

The guest travels thousands of miles into a fountain.

The bird flew far away should be fate, and it was lost for many years.

"Waves and Sands, Autumn Raindrops Cold Sound"

Autumn raindrops are cold, and I am sad to live a lifetime.

Lonely lamps sit in response to the times,

Ye knocked on the small window and thought drunk, forgetting the floating glory.

The world's dreams are indisputable, and he asks about the future.

There is no way out of the world,

The geese outside the dust go to the snow, and the winter solstice is clear.

"Waves and Sands Ling PingYe Flows Eastward"

The leaves flow eastward. Clouds travel together.

From where you like to go, let it go.

Do not hinder the travel of north and south customers, and have no need for the world.

Stroll around the small bridgehead. Autumn Old Forest Hill.

Piff is hard to come by.

The sunset is self-deprecating, and the shadows are worried.

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【Drunken Rain Xuan original, reprint please indicate, thank you】

【Message】

Dewa, the gazebo, the well, and the enigmatic story, are an amorous seed buried in a deep alley. When the smoke and rain are dipped in bitter tears and the thickness of history, sprinkle a line of light winter poetry, drowned in the dark gray brick tiles, the blood words carved into a wall, perhaps the tenacity under mourning, perhaps the poignancy under helplessness, with the suffocation of the mother.

Through the constant love thread, the window ledge and the brass bell at the eaves, deep and vicissitudes poured out the monologue of the deep alley. If so, wait for the snowflakes to fall obsessively, listen to the vicissitudes of the war drums of the bloody battlefield, little by little, inhale and spit out the breath of winter, and the wounds on the happy cuts are left with the bitter blood of youth.