The wind lingered outside the season, picking up a tulle dress, walking barefoot through the wilderness of the heart, where the water and grass were bright and the waves were swaying, and even in the dark night, it was also scorching and flashing like green onions.
According to the footsteps of the water, can it be quieter, quieter? Don't disturb the sleeping soul in the drunken dream, I know that in the inner monologue, I don't want to touch your coolness anymore. For me, it was an inseparable wound.
Like my hair fluttering in the long wind, lost in the original hometown of love. Nostalgia, the time when the green vines were entangled in that year, how many souls intertwined moments, in the silent night, slowly flowing.
The dream stops outside the smoke and rain, from the melody of far and near, soft, poignant, is to penetrate through the layers of barriers, at this moment is also clearly ripe, and with the wind drifting with the fragrance of a light of tea, once again awakening the years of flowing pen tip.
Folding his clothes, standing in the north wind for a long time, the heart that wandered beyond the red dust, in silence, he could hear his breath, and in a kind of extreme waiting, he let loneliness invade the reincarnation of the night.
In the distant empty alley, I have given myself to time without reservation, and the thoughts hidden behind the moon always reveal a looming thin coolness, like butterfly wings stained with cold dew, trying my best, I can no longer fly, all of which are just helplessly submerged into the sky.
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