A pot of peach blossom wine, burning who drunk
Author | Liu Li Shuying Editor: Yi Meng Fangfei
I have been waiting, waiting for a peach blossom to burn, starting from the piece of crab leaf in the poem, and turning the whole spring into the prosperous era of the Tang Dynasty.
When the wind is warmer and the grass can sink into the horse's hooves, he invited a slight rain of apricot blossoms to make a picture of Danqing that blooms strangely.
The swallows on the beams returned to their old home. In the shallow spring breeze, I folded a willow and promised myself a vigorous hope.
Shallow years, but a journey of flowers, a trip of loneliness. Cherish deeply when you meet, do not cry when you leave, and let all the gathering and scatter come and go, which is the best fulfillment of fate.
One season at a time, one year old and one year old. In the journey of life, no matter who you meet and who you miss, it is the one that should appear in life, and it will always teach you something, without having to ask whether the affection is deep or shallow.
I would like to collect the fragrance of flowers all the way on the road of spring, and paint a picture of purple and red with the warmth of the sun, the lightness of the peach blossoms, and the shallowness of the light rain.
A wisp of wind, a piece of ink, the spring in the painting is getting warmer and warmer. Brew a pot of peach blossom wine, drink against time, and settle down in the flow of years.
I have always loved the calmness of falling flowers without words, even if it is crushed into the dust, it is still fragrant. I also like the small grass flowers that have just sprouted in the spring, and I feel all the warmth at a glance.
Between the ebb and flow of the tide, pick up the poetry of the years, the abundance of the flowing years. In life, those scenery that walks side by side, even after years, will still be warm to tears when looking back.
In the shallow spring breeze, stepping on the green, looking for fangs, I have not splashed ink, but I have become a painting. And those feelings that come with dark incense, why should they meet in the most beautiful years? It is already beautiful to meet, but to be grateful and cherished!
Gently open the fence of the years, in the yellowing time, there are traces of residual snow melting, and there are also spring breezes that have missed the return date. The swings of the flowing years are lonely, full of lonely memories. There is a dark fragrance, passing through the wall, those fading past events, Hur has the color of spring.
It has gone through spring after spring, and it has been spent year after year. The sound of geese returning, the peach blossom burning drunk who? Strangely, every encounter is a heartbeat. The fate is very deep, and the waiting is very long. As we walk through time, we either become passers-by or returnees.
If so, smile and let go of all the joys and sorrows, and about a trip to the spring into the poem. Write "one to two or three miles, four or five tobacco villages, six or seven pavilions, write eight or ninety flowers." "I also write about the warmth of the early spring, and also write that the wind is not cold, and all the joys and joys of the moment."
In life, the most beautiful joy is nothing more than that. At this time, the spring is not stained with dust, and in the spring light, it is dyed with a dark incense. Stepping on the shallow grass like smoke, let the gentle and warm wind gently blow around your ears.
And I, a plain face, with a simple jane, with a light heart, in the most beautiful spring, shallow and shallow, walk slowly, until I walk into the depths of spring.