Looking at the long sky, late autumn is thick. The swaying maple leaves, gently drifting to zero, every sound of landing on the ground, like a crushed note; touching the sensitive nerves in the depths of my soul. Looking back, thoughts floating on the colorful fallen leaves, humorous feelings, endless attachment and sorrow have fallen in autumn.
Finger dyeing flowing years, ink stained wind and frost, autumn day of caprice, drowned out the vicissitudes. Speechless and desolate, I replayed the stories of the years in a gallery full of memories. The soul, looking for the ancient road of the years to fly, let it go, the four seasons are reincarnated with full of sorrow, monopoly, a round of late autumn and clear moon, the hard thoughts, composed into a song like a song of poetry.
The autumn sunset, the twilight is like wine, and the moment of the curtain falls, there is a touch of emotion. Chanting pens, flicking sleeves, a twist of the wind, knocking on the tranquility of the depths of the lonely autumn. Whose voice pierces your soul, looks up at the lonely long moon star, and asks, when are the memories hanging? Sigh, where do you miss?
Fingertips cross the long river of memories, flowing in the heart, gently tapping the keyboard, floating between my words, listening to a song, borrowing a plain note, stepping on your footsteps, looking for the figure of a lifetime. In the late autumn, I was still immersed in the dream of my thoughts. The autumn wind is cold, the yellow leaves are withering, and the heart is gliding in the vast sky.
In the late autumn, I rubbed the emptiness into the wind and tasted the bitter boiled wine alone. Pick up a falling maple leaf, and the tear marks on the veins of the leaves are still there. How many sad dusks and dawns, how many sad spring, summer, autumn and winter, the sky, dimmed Zhu Yan.
Years, frost stained the sideburns. The long sky is speechless, the soul is silent, let the foot sound, follow the autumn wind, step on the intersection of this dream. With five hundred years of twilight drums and morning bells, ringing through, this quiet late autumn.
Creation is not easy, praise is the heart, tips are encouragement. Some of the content of this graphic article originates from the Network, hereby express sincere thanks, if there is any infringement, please contact the author to delete.