No wind and no moon flowers good sleep, don't be overwhelmed by dreams, I know this love into frost and snow, don't allow the first sight in the spring! The evening wind crosses the lotus pond, and the column asks about the heart? Ink incense three thousand feet, you know best in your life! The sycamore leaves fall in summer, the new cicadas chirp late, only Yu Dong passes away from the water, send me to acacia ... There are three words that can be said, but when they are not exported, the butterflies dance and the flowers bloom. There is a person who can meet, but it is like a beautiful night to make people drunk, sleep later, wake up later.
That rouge fan, the incense is full of incense, how dare you speak softly, for fear of frightening the sleeping pool lotus, you can only meditate on the lotus under the moon by the pool: the poem that has nothing to do with the wind and the moon. The colorless wind blows colorless rain and falls on the lake melaleuca green. Flowers have no intention of spring, willow smoke around the long causeway, blue butterflies fly back and forth; incense has faith and dreams, white horses step on light dust, all the way to find you thousands of miles! The bright moon washes the lotus seeds, the green water is shallow mud, the lake and the mountains reflect the clear lotus, and the dark incense rises. I don't feel that the spring and autumn have been three degrees, the knot lu chao twilight to the flower language, the clear words and sentences have no weight, and the dream is only for you!
Spring-like eyes, twenty-four bridges and bright moons, illuminate your eyebrows. The left hand caresses the flowers, and the right hand is picturesque. It is not a pity for the world, but it is also cold and better, only looking at the light clouds and the moon, and not planting rich flowers in the world. Feelings like moon water, not too close to the world, idle clouds and wild cranes are your ethereal taste, quietly look at the flowing water bridge, cross eyebrows to beat the shore of the waves, red dust through, clouds and water perched, poetic fluttering, wind waving sleeves long book, belt gradually widened people do not regret. Flowers blossom and fall, people come and go, but may there be a moon at the end of the world, and there will be you under the moon!
I think you are suddenly very lonely, just outside moonlight city to fight horses and return. Lotus pond after the rain at the beginning of the tea warm, looking for a piece of rain smoke peach blossom path, fixed his eyes a thousand times, acacia put the wine small character red note, drunk in Song Ci, wandering for thousands of years. I know that the season of meeting you should be on the next May day when butterflies dance and flowers fly. Deep affection in the depths of the dream soul, is a thousand miles of qingluan, not hesitating to wait for the old age, and willing to be lonely in the river for the rest of his life. Linchun River, accompanied by bamboo forest, Qingxiao Yueming with piano sound, ask Jun can remember?
How many bright moons and how many worlds, still like the old color. The railing is snowy, the window is inky, the bells on the wall are in the middle of the night, who is it for tonight? The past is copied again, Lan Zhu clear dreams, near the water pavilion, an acquaintance to change, this life is difficult to give up. Often sit opposite the mountains and streams, but sigh, fail to spend the wine bank, and often drink with you! One river rain, two windows, for whom to calculate this time? Flowers are falling, the sky is late, a little lonely, deep into the flow of years.
Peach blossoms meet green hedges, green bamboo meets eaves, how many spring and autumn gentle turns, but who is it, pick me up in this life! The piano made of rain and the soul made of tears shattered all over the ground, like the green faded red residue that no one picked up at the end of the world. Cold incense like ink, no trace of the pen, listen to your long-standing guqin, read the rhyme of your fingertips, overlooking your thin white landscape, but it is difficult to draw your clear Zen sound. Who accompanies you to boil and drink a few plum souls, who accompanies you with a few glasses of vegetarian wine and whispers, who leaves you a flowing stream of water?
Your downcast poetry is full of love, locking me in the courtyard deep house, the branch of the lotus at the end of summer, remembering your eyebrows are light. Flowers fall out of the window, the night is not central, even if there are a thousand words, can only meditate on the past and stand in the sun. In the dream, I waved my sleeve to beat how many willow-colored peach blossoms, climbed the mountain and screamed for a long time, gave poetry to the water, and the two confidants held the lamp, talking and laughing - the heavens and the earth crisscrossed. The old things are like the sky is far away, the morning mirror draws new eyebrows, I don't know the taste of true feelings and sorrows, and there are many reincarnations.
Like the wind, a few songs of joy, a few pages of sadness, only in the dream of butterflies dancing and flying. Don't be afraid of the cruelty of thousands of rivers and mountains, only afraid of your gentle turn... The past is like a dream, spring to winter, water moon mirror flowers. Relying on the ancient flowing water in the east, acacia for thousands of years, always by the end of the world. Toward the twilight of the painting of clear words, how many flying feathers fall red, is not easy to forget, often recall the time, strange grass green. Don't be afraid of wanye with the incense, only afraid to die thinking of Junrong!
Enmity is easy to break, even if it is ruthless, it is also moving, I am under the window, for you to happen in vain! Sauvignon Blanc, the night is long, Acacia xiaoxiao rain, tears silently cold. The wind is full of sky, the incense is full of sky, the April terrace is far away from the railing, and the flowers bloom infinitely. The wine is half drunk, the tea is half full, the preference for the lone shadow is full moon, and the thousand miles remember Chan Juan. Ink on paper, winding on the piano, poetic and picturesque outside the fingertips, reminiscences are always separated by ten thousand mountains. At dusk, the small building, people are like bamboo thin, raising their wrists in poetry, light sorrow like smoke willows.
Prosperity over the eyes, a thousand sails over, only a piece of the original heart, with the column night, lonely pillow clear words sleep. Eroded bone incense, I put the name next to the flower, broken love, ice posture jade finger is extraordinary. The end of the line is always in the clouds of water, not with the same tricks as all beings! Xie Leadhua, gold powder are all wind past. Butterflies fall on the heart of the flowers, tuberose comes to the bottom of the sleeves, dotted with red makeup tears, and dance through the wind. Heaven and earth, the old three lives together, goodbye to you, what is the time of this life and this life? The west wind blows the wrist book parting, the butterfly dances and blossoms, but the heart is broken like rain, and the flowing water is exhausted for one person. How to ask the question in the spring of the next year, how many past events are dark and green, and it is difficult to write lonely and lonely.
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