/Original
There's a kind of longing called lonely nights
There's a kind of hesitation that is the sleeplessness of the light show after the leaves fall
There is a kind of worry that if you are well, I will be safe
There is a kind of encounter that is to look at each other and not to be with each other
There is a story that the memories in dreams are all related to you
There is a kind of searching that travels through thousands of rivers and mountains
Everywhere is printed the scarred remnants of snowflakes
The cold wind whistles Lead washes the courtyard that does not abandon
The splendor of a tree of begonia flowers pressed the brow bay
Is it wind, rain or snow pride
I circled this delicate dream round and round
Nevertheless, it is admired in a long volume of poetry
Take a touch of the winter cicada in the afternoon and send it to The Distant
A sigh tore open the softness of the dream
Stand in a song soaked in the cold wind
Melancholy thrush wet the tearful eye curtain
If only the pines could stand in the cold for a thousand years
The way back may be paved with the red color of the plum sea
A hint of melancholy floats with the cold wind
A song of mountains and rivers dream drunk on the soft tip of the ink
If the stars and moons can add articles, please allow me to light and elegant snow lotus
Don't leave your hazy eyes on the other side of the ferry
Love has gone far, no matter how much tearing cry is issued
Nor will it travel thousands of miles to hand over a square towel to wipe away the beads of sadness
The wind is cold and the thoughts are pulled
Lu Fan, who has been wandering for many years, holds back the cold winter cicadas
Pick a leaf of Qionghua and mix the thoughts of the thousand layers with the green spring
Let the warmth that has disappeared ignite the flame of boiling tea
Let a wisp of incense not bear the joy of the warm sun
Invite Mei to taste the sound of cold snow The sound of resentment swept through
Ask Chang Ting if he can play a string of music to end up scattering
Commemorate the attachment of the flute in the past
Snowy night Cold and cold, starry moon
Occasionally, green silk skimmed over the curtains of several empty curtains in front of him
The cold soaked into the half-hanging tip of the pen The five strings and ten tones messed up the chapter
Origin of the extinction of the gift to the green smoke A few clear moons shine on the pine mountain
Brew a cup of tea and meditate on meditation to keep a table of elegance in the world
Originally created by Wei Shan Xiaoyun
Wenmei Meitu ll excerpt from the network [Thanks to the hard work of photographers and models]
Thank you Ya Bo
Note: The text belongs to The original works of Wei Shan Xiaoyun!