Light twist reincarnation, light smoke, rain, cold dew, moon frost. A note of heart, the cold ink is stained with the coolness of the wind, flowers and snow, like a butterfly dancing in the red dust demon realm Taoyuan, waiting for the flower to fly, and the clouds fly together. Gathering like a spring dream is short, scattered as long as clouds of smoke, only to lower his brow and lose the landscape, and then to lose the poem in his heart. Jun is leisurely in the world, and sings and walks, not for the sake of merit, but for the sake of love. Jun is indifferent and flashy, drunk and swimming in the classical old poetry lines, singing elegantly and books.
Where you are pleasant, you slurry lips and teeth, chanting the clutches of the world. Years of stealing, another season full of red, piled up grace, emaciated Jun's face, empty of whose miss? Who leans alone on the West Building, a curtain of ghostly dreams complains about the shallow spring, and the bamboo shadow of the half window sighs the autumn depths; the hourglass stings several degrees, the jackdaw sleeps and the wind cries. Looking at the dust and empty thoughts, the afterglow has not been returned for a long time.
Who is silently suing? Half-covered embroidery half-covered windows. No heart pen ink book autumn meaning, why desolate autumn waves, Yangtze River bank who sings alone? Mo Dao does not lose his soul, and there is no count of the west wind in a thousand miles. Sunset and rain, even if there is a dark fragrance full of sleeves, away from sorrow and hate and on the heart. The sound of falling flowers has flowed for several years, borrowing wine to dispel sorrows, forcing a happy face, playing the idleness between the eyebrows with his bare hands, looking up and spitting out the lament in his heart, but the thick sorrow attached to the bones has no way to eliminate, and he will stay with things.
Meet Xiyi, poetry and book valley, ink walk purple mo. Heaven and earth, only love each other, pearl words. Whoever is lost in jun's butterfly dream, who is sad in jun's gentle covenant. Borrow Junqing ink dark incense sleeves, red face falling city, borrow Junsheng song. Warbler turn carved beam. Han Palace autumn moon, late wind rush? Jun let whose thoughts are entangled in longing? Alone up the West Building, leaning on the railing, looking at the end of the world, where do people return? Heavenly decaying grass, eyebrow lock qingqiu! Melancholy words rhyme, whose vastness is it that Ping Ping And Servants pin on?
Gradually, why did Zhijun faintly worry? Knowing that the king is hiding like that? Picking chrysanthemums on the eastern fence, leisurely Nanshan, Jun rolling a hoe, small bridges flowing water, tung flowers like snow, Jun combing dreams into poetry chapters. Sit alone and stop the dust, and watch the clouds and forget the red dust. One or two dust dreams go with the fate, stand on the cliff and look through the water, and in the pleasant time, cultivate to cleanse the body. Meeting with Jun, dividing and merging several degrees of Tang poetry and Song poetry intoxication, tears and confusion, is my humble gentleman's style of remembering Jun, and there is always too much to give.
Always too late to do goodbye and disappear into Jun's concern, and I... The sun is on the curtain, thousands of miles away, I pray through a round of clear light that the king will be safe, and the king will be safe. I was sad, I didn't know how to pour it out, I was afraid of missing my wish tomorrow at that time. There are a thousand kinds of golden words, ten thousand beautiful sentences, and in the end it is difficult to write my deep feelings, know each other and cherish each other, respect each other, dry at night, light up thousands of homes, cold in the west window, gaze at the silver man, Junke good dreams.
Clichés are only for blessings, only for the peace of this life. Last night Xiyi wrote poetry and painting, and today the valley was full of joy. Sigh how many causes in the world are not by people, know each other at hand, but the end of the world. Distant blessings to the fish and geese, and fear of misbelief, difficult to pass on? The lights are dim, the fingers are cool, the green silk is rolled into tears, and the love thoughts are dancing. On the Phoenix stage, a dream was far away in the Phoenix City, and Xin Han was almost like a plum blush.
Nian Jun talked and laughed between the poems waved, and Nian Jun silently wrote a luminous chapter. When Nian Jun is alone, he thinks eternally, and when Nian Jun is happy, he is splendidly fragrant. Nian Jun thousands of miles away from the unforgiving to stick to a friendship, Nian Jun's end of the world to protect the mortal dust fairy. Nian Jun's humor, Nian Jun's depth, Nian Jun's elegance, Nian Jun's boldness, Nian Jun's simplicity. The night is not yet dark, the meaning is difficult, gently knock on the door of the heart, the blessing is spread with the wind and the sound, if the king is well, I will be sunny.
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