Flowers blossom, summer nights, nostalgia for that long song. The soft moonlight illuminates your figure and lights up my tonight. You have taken the spirit of music as your source and survived the chaos of the world to this day. In the corner far away from the bumps, flying through time and space, with your entangled hands, and the breeze wrapped around me. In ancient times, women with pipas in their arms strolled along the flower path. A raid of green clothes, at the top of the high cold, wading through the water.
And is the distance between me and you only a light word? If I can approach you quietly, I am eager to go into the truth, you are so jade and ice clear. Gathering and scattering, outside the clouds, you have left a side of the silk spar, in the cool morning, into the poem full of thoughts. The moonlight is the tight string that I miss you, and I start cooking wine in Ome when I am in Hanshi. Then under the moon of Tang Shi, I was still waiting in Chang'an.
The sound of the pipa was grumbling, and the wine in the pot, cup by cup, until it was empty, only a full cup of moonlight was poured out. That night, I was drunk with the moon, dancing in the shadows, and when I woke up, I had white hair. Under the moon on the bank of the, I wrapped my memories in the folds of the flowing years, and my thoughts turned over the ancient city walls, and those yellowed days, like flying leaves, were quietly imprinted in my heart. And that long song, which fell on my throat and never hummed again, you are standing in the middle of the water, fluttering, I can pick you up, and I am afraid that you will not be able to withstand the baptism of the world, just let you live leisurely in the water.
Through thousands of years, the wind has blown away the rhyme, and how to blow it is not a word. In the air, there is no shadow of the colored butterflies, they have fallen with me under the sky with you, and all the dust has settled. At that moment, I wandered around, just waiting for the soul of that time, and my thoughts rested under the willow for too long.
When the strings on the heart move softly, the moon in the water is missing and round. My poems add an unsinkable wish, and they have the richness of songs. Where the breeze blows, my steps have not stopped, and when the swallow is speaking, the melodious sound of the piano has become a bookmark into the mind.
On the water side, waiting for the flowers to wither, the rain to fall on the lotus pond scenery fans, wading in the water. Watch the clouds cirrus cloud Shu, dancing with the skirt yarn, long hair falling to the rhythm. Dusty and fragrant steps, returning the feelings to time and space. As long as life does not dry up, no longer ask where the flowers fall, but without your days, where are the butterflies?
On the shores of Surabaya Lake, the breeze and dew baptize the verdant bamboo. I use Lan as a medium and stay with you all my life. From ancient times to the present, the distance between me and you is only that long scroll, and you and I silently pour out like that wisp of thoughts and ink. On this moonlit night, stay in front of my desk.
The drizzle outside the window is away, and the falling flowers on the ground leave the footprints of poetry. The breeze in the forest is used to blowing the rustle of bamboo leaves. With a long song and light words, under the silent window, thoughts flew. The years of sorrow, the separation of several lifetimes, the sound of the lute, the soft chanting of red lips, called the long song. I flew from the strings, and then from the wiped Tang poems and song words and a line of clear tears, I flew over time and space. In this red dust memory, go as promised, go to another world to find you.
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