Red dust has you, red dust has me, which day, which dusk rain, azure mist drifts a touch of smoke shadow, as if the world is gone? Which day, which light song, which song lyrics on the yellowish plain note with a delicate euphemism, you and I met?
Presumably, the blue and white porcelain of Jiangnan came to the human world from the Song Ci, and the smoke shadow fence of Qianqian fell on the fireworks jiangnan, just took a look, so at a glance, it was fascinated by the fireworks weeping willows, the plain umbrella Lou Ting, the black canopy painting boat picking lotus incense, and the snow falling remnant bridge dance was poignant.
There are also dusty women in the rain alley who complain about loneliness, and put a faint branch of cloves, with incense and clear throat, from the decadent white wall of Dewa like smoke, like you, like me. The bright moon on the Twenty-Fourth Bridge is still in the light, and the fifty strings of the qinser sigh quietly.
The carved white jade railing is rock solid, witnessing the blossoming and falling of the flowers every year. The vicissitudes of the years, the prosperity and poignancy, the autumn has come and the spring has come, and in the twilight, those light pink, pink, goose yellow, frankincense flowers, the second bloom and the scattered.
Everywhere there is a lot of glory, and there is a good look in the world. The spring flowers are swaying, the beauty is still there, and the spring color of the garden is full of fragrance. Who lightly laughs at fireworks, dressed in light veils, light dancing fanghua, pink dots fall between the eyebrows of the sand.
Who wants to open his lips, but he swallows it again, silent as Zen, making sandalwood dust and dancing alone. I caressed the snow on my shoulders, looked at the frozen lake, and the shadow fell into a single tear; I was self-propelled, galloping on horseback, the sword taking off and splashing, and the red dust was like a dream.
I am self, light veil, dressed in red, and I am greeted with the sleeves of the incense and weeping; I am self, lonely pillow thin, remember a leisurely endowment, falling flowers away from the soul to live up to Qing. Looking back, it is the end of a thousand mountains, the falling flowers are far away from the water, the Windows are fenced, the green mountains are glazed, and the dreams are cold.
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