Spring flowers are full of color, from crimson flames to full branches, just in a second. Some broken flowers, like a dragonfly passing by the water, point to the lake with a small tail wing, and in an instant it will throbbed the calm of the past. The lake is joyfully swaying, overflowing, and flowing, and then the ripples are far away, waiting for reincarnation in silence.
Watch a tree of flowers bloom until a tree falls, only the wind quietly takes away some scattered petals. Those broken reds, which still exuded a fresh taste yesterday, trembled lightly on the empty branches today, and fell according to the hedge. Three feet red on the ground, not stained in the smoke.
The fireworks are so cool, like the clear light of a meter of light sun, just overflowing and withdrawing, leaving a cool green coat, empty sleeves light. Fireworks are so cool, the wind strikes the neon, the fall of the window is thin; the night bed is cool jade pillow, red candle thin flower lamp; jade flute around the dream, how deep is the courtyard?
Fireworks are so cool, pear rain powder lane, butterflies flying on the fence wall, Qingqing enjoy. Swallows cut willow curtains, warblers crisp sing, little peach windows, not who to discuss? On the west wind, who embroidered the lady to try the tips, laughing at the rouge incense. Lost in the depths of Yanhong, no trails, no eaves, no bluestone slabs to sit on, no small bridges and rain pavilions.
Let those who exude a warm and mysterious atmosphere, run wildly in the fireworks-soaked charm, swirl, fall, and then come back stained with moonlight. At the end of The Red, you are still not there. Hugging a hint of coolness, the eyes gradually became wet, and the melancholy light wind lifted the hair and sent some cherry blossoms to rub into it.
Somewhere suddenly it hurts, eroding the bone cone, and the paper is broken. It was as if all at once the breath was clenched, suffocated, and then thrown out again, stuck to the fireworks, and shattered. The humidity slowly surged, a drop of dew fell into the flower bud, and after a rolling kung fu, it was lightly kicked by the lark and flew to the clouds with the flower.
An empty branch shook through the misery, shattered the brocade fan, shook the flower to leave the hateful sky, and shook the green silk and ten thousand strands of jade hairpin idleness. Lost in the depths of the fireworks, the red covered the body, and the shallow throat bypassed the blade and quietly snuggled in the gentle place. They curl up between the past and the future, startled, sweet.
Yan Hong has been floating, and no one knows when to stop. It is best not to stop, in those alienated places, to form a small tomb, called fireworks city. It was full of dreams, with wings fluttering at both ends. Lost, in the depths of the fireworks, all the way inward, picked up a falling cherry blossom by the side of the low wall. The sweet fragrance is all familiar breath, just passing by here.
Lost, in the depths of the fireworks, looking for that share of the past. A glance away, a shadow, are hidden in a drop of tearful eyelashes, warming up the wind and falling, full of smoke.
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