Strange red dust, and dyed with infinite spring light, deep in the dust, it is a fate to be able to meet the breeze. The flowers are delicate, I stand next to the flower buds, waiting for you to blow my fluttering sleeves and dye them with a romantic warm atmosphere; the spring breeze is thousands of miles, I stand on the field, waiting for you to blow open the knots in my atrium and clarify my dream state of mind.
Thousands of trees blossom, drink the breeze alone. Clear, shallow, carrying the style of a thousand years, such as the gentle ripples of spring water, through the childhood of the peach blossom source dream, brushing through the old dreams of the years, graceful diffusion. The breeze is gentle and warm as wine. That little bit of grass, that softness, for a moment, actually drunk the atrium of my heart.
Pour the breeze into the bottle, relieve my shallow thoughts, invite the breeze to dance, and gently attach my shoulders to the wind. Moisturizing and swaying, you flow through my fingertips, I can read your gentleness, you can read my mind. In the ups and downs of Ping, you take me into the poems of the Sheng Tang Dynasty, and take me to wander through the words of the Song Dynasty. Wander through the ancient and modern, stroll through the red dust, the wind wind around the case, the ink fragrance overflowing.
Travel through time and space, pick the wind into the curtain, and ring the wind chimes in my past dreams. The breeze blows, you are more like a feminine woman, graceful and colorful, giving me spring flowers every year. Suddenly looking back, the melancholy mood was gently awakened by you, it was you, who passed on to me the sound of flowers, it was you, with a smile, dyed the low-hanging silk tapestry.
This spring afternoon, the desk is plain and the mood is faint. You fell again in front of my window, and I put you into the wine glass of the mood, mixed with the gentle sunshine, slowly pouring, shallow drinking, you enriched my thoughts, you brewed my memories into mellow psalms.
I carefully hold you into my arms, the tenderness of that moment, is a soft time, with your white feather, wrapped in my beautiful happiness. Counting the years of falling, you accompanied me through the stormy ferry, and I still remember that you folded my sorrows, and with a gentle breeze, floated up the flowers.
The mountains are blue, the water is blue, the grass is long and warblers are flying, or you, spreading that wisp of floral fragrance in my heart, gently, softly, blowing away the withering of the earth and scattering my decadence. The joy of the heart, bathed in your freshness, embracing the buds of the branches with you, the flower dreams soundly, breeding a poetic mood.
Wander with your scenery, feel your enthusiasm, I no longer chew those memories, let you blow away my years of light ink, only let happiness indulge in my warm arms. You lightly stepped on the soft green of the herbs, waved the fragrance, filled my sleeves with intoxicating dark incense, and I lost my way back. Hold your hand gently, can you take me home with you?
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