Xiao Xiang silhouette, ancient ink pleasant. Moon rain smoke sunny Jiangnan dream, flute sound in the clouds and water. The mountains are full of dai, the willows are like smoke, and the return sails are leaning on the sun at night. There are still flower trees near the shore, and the wild geese can pass on the book? Outside the village, the clouds of a thousand peaks are surrounded by fog, the sky is flowing in The Sky is clear, and the Mingxia is still illuminating the Cuiping Exhibition.
The mountains of Biyin are quiet and quiet, and I can smell the bells three or two. Mirror Lake He invites bingxin in, autumn moon hanging cave court. The bamboo shadow in the window was frightening, the sky was falling, and the night rain complained to the passenger ship to listen. The river sky is near the twilight roll plum, and the cloud is deep and hidden jade water. There is a taoyuan scenery in the heart, the blue waves and green wen ride the sunset, and the fishing boat sings the evening song.
The pen falls drunk Danqing, and the poetry rhymes with Fang Qiong. The glitz is left and casual, and the ink color is comforting. Like smoke, the old things of Jiangnan are wrapped around the fingertips of the flowing years, filling the drizzle and spilling on the ink notes. Thus blurring the cycle of time and rendering with the colors of language. As a result, some of the imagery was hazy, and ruoshi's rhyming feet flew onto the strings.
The gentle melody, the smoke is light, the rain is lingering, and the loneliness of the night is moistened. The thoughts of the wind began to drift away in the watchful eye, and gradually drifted away. The quaint white walls and green tiles have witnessed the changes of the years, and the stories under the eaves have been poured out for thousands of years in the smoke and rain, but they have not been finished.
In that long rain alley, there will always be an oil-paper umbrella that emits a smell of ding, and the purple fragrance and purple grievances will be condensed in the sound of the servants, beating the mossy and moist bluestone slabs, entangled with the poet's sorrow and romance, lingering in the sight of the heart.
Therefore, the rain was extracted with a gentle wind, and the long-standing poems were woven, which provoked too many shallow thoughts. In the reflection of the drizzle of time, the water alleys, like the green willows of smoke, are filled with a little tenderness and a lot of expectation in the waves. There was a gentle wind blowing, bringing a few apricot petals, and in front of the small window, on the staring face, there was a faint touch of yanran.
In the eyes, the double swallows that freely shuttle in the rain are so leisurely and peaceful. Delicate thoughts, gentle on the paintings spread day and night, small bridges and pavilions in the smoke and rain, flowing water, green trees, colorful flowers, blooming with eternal thoughts. And a heavy stroke landed on a black canopy boat that was sailing on the smoke waves in the distance...
On this shore and on the other shore, separated by the flowing time, only a smoke and rain, I know that Jiangnan is an inexhaustible poetry and an inexhaustible scroll. Crawling through the moss, sitting a thousand years of chanting. A light yarn coat is held, a clear blue, and the imagination of the flowing years is ethereal.
The light boat that crossed shook through the smoke and rain of the years, scattering a faint sadness. Salvage, an icy moon, hanging over the bridge. Play in a gentle flute tone. Listening quietly, the wind waded through the water, holding the fragrance of the lotus, gently moving the shadow of the moon, the soft waves of the ripples, and a cluster of dripping green baskets, moistening the familiar sound of the piano in the past life.
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