Spring rain, endless spring rain, and red dust are tears. You see, the rain in Jiangnan is endless, and it is clear that hatred is difficult to dissipate. I asked Rain: Do you resent? The rain was silent. I asked Yun again: Are you sad? The clouds are silent.
Let me ask: Where is the sorrow and joy of heaven and earth, and how can the clouds and rain know the sorrows? The right way is: rain hates clouds, and Jiangnan is still called Jiali. Originally, it was a mundane thing that only existed in the eyes of mortal dust, who would rely on the column? Only blame me for being too sentimental.
Mo asked whether the place where the soul was haunted was heaven or not. Beautiful things, always beautiful. With the rain lingering, just like, has nothing to do with the wind and moon. Perhaps, you have not taken a trip to jiangnan water town in the spring when the flowers and leaves are good.
That elegance, but has long been in the heart; that poetry, but also drunk thick acacia. Will you come? Come to this gentle Gangnam! I know you'll come. Nothing is not happy, no see is not scattered.