Choose a day, as the end of the old year, to see the wilderness of a winter, in the vast expanse. It is too late for the flower note to wither, and the four seasons of the world are always enchantingly good. At the bottom of the eyes, there are always warm verses of seasonal flowers. The flowers outside the window, living in the season, bloom brightly, only snowflakes, and they refuse to put money on my note. New winds and old rains every year, prosperous seasons, but sighing window case on the case, this note of thin ink, a few delicate flowers, loose hedges, clear and clear, this style, hate can not dominate all the prosperity and glory, but also reflect how many deep past?
If you can't open a large ball of splendid embroidery, how to get a full moon flower? From Shaohua Shengji, full of charm, to the wind and dust, luan mirror dust. Previous life, either heavy or light. Gong is a light pen, the book is full of self-pity and resentment, how to get, piece of words who explain the fist of the heart of the fist looking forward to? Looking forward to the wind and rain, a thousand pieces of heart, scattered on the paper suddenly like a flower flying rain, a person and I abandoned the ordinary intentions, hand took the flower notes from the cold bird, handed over a box of beautiful style, the scenery is infinitely good. Raise your eyebrows, and the red sleeves will add incense to the poetry book to accompany the dust and smoke.
The love of the world is the beauty of the mountain that is high and the water is long, and it will finally be seen for the first time, and the shadow of a cloud will quietly drift to it. In the vast sky of clouds and smoke, the flowers and shadows are interdependent about the water nature of the clouds. But it also has the illusion of the dust of the past life. The peach blossom that was separated from him in the world, when the moment of encounter was not open, the happy love was already a deep alliance in the heart. It is already a good period of elegant meeting, half a life is broad, and a furnace of gentle and gentle words is bright and beautiful. Since then, the lovesickness has been endless, and the time has been bright and bright. Borrow a breeze, and you can also get a few pages of love.
The cover is full of flowers and flowers; the opening is the sequence of the mountains and rivers still loving and still the same; the plot is the carved embroidery pen, the needle needle flowing gold, the embroidered partridge double pair, the eaves swallow pair. Needles and needles are also resentful, embroidery outside the moon, a box of style infinite silence. The embroidered flowers were delicately fragrant, and he was slow to come to the silence. Embroider a piece of idleness until the frost night moon oblique. Just wait until the heart is boiled. But at this moment, maybe it happens to be the last moment of your coming, how dare you leave with peace of mind? But many of the world's waiting often wait until despair.
The last chapter of this book, once a thousand kinds of love, has since been clear and cloudy, returned to the peach and plum wordless, quiet as a deep pool. A light pen, a few square notes. The notes are like a pond lotus, the pen is like a han, in the life of such as Chao Lu, it has not yet been fully developed, and the mountains and rivers have grown old. Looking back, that kind of beautiful intention is already a long day and a long water, and it is full of Buddha-nature. The last page is that you finally closed the lonely window and left me with the illusion of the distant mountains and rivers. For me, it is already an empty mountain of rice paper, the past is far-reaching, and it is difficult to be humorous!
Close this book of "That Hidden Blossom", leaving a bunch of chaotic flower shadows, only in the cold winter wind, blown thinner and thinner. He vanished like the wind without a trace. All the tragedies and joys intersected, but it was too late to open the curtain of the dispersal, and there was no one under the stage. The winter sun, through the old corridor of decadent vines, lowered eyebrows, silently faded deeper. Three thousand silks, older. That month and that year, but I can't go back. Overnight, the curtain is heavy!
Last year, under the shadow of the river, sparkling bath clear toads. Li Ying Shuang, Idle Lu Jing, the pulse is deeply affectionate. Holding hands, giving wine to Yihong, cutting poems and chanting Xiang bamboo. Remember the time, the fragrance is like three spring winds, soft as a willow. This year is late for flowers, and it is difficult to make Haoyue long. Read where, xuan window to listen to the rain, broken intestines in the sound of sorrow. Counting more than that, several times with double swallows, annoyed flowers are drunk. More Nakan, Kaoru Red Qiongyi, Se Se Qing Fang.
In the classical gentle rhyme book, take an old-fashioned embroidery needle and thread the frost and snow-dyed white hair. A roll of flowers, embroidered with plums, flowers have bones, Zen, and clear and transparent enlightenment. There was also a wisp of Sanskrit singing, fluttering in the wind. I still look forward to it, at twilight, when I am still wearing a white dress, and you are also dressed in white, holding the "That Hidden Flower Bloom" in your hand, laughing about the ups and downs of the three bright moons. Then sit with me in the sunset in the west for a long time... In this complicated and muddy world, you are my only good night.
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