How many lifetimes of smoke? It is full of red lotus, the flower shadow is shaking, who is flicking the sleeve of the piano table, the heart into the rain, dripping bit by bit. why! why! Always rain soft lute thin, fog dissipation glass thick. The sound of the lutes that snaked in the air teased the loneliness of the wind, turning the sea of clouds into smoke waves.
Yi waved his hands, danced lightly, and put the beautiful tenderness on the sideburns of his forehead, shy into a quiet hibiscus, and in the ripples that bloomed, it was the tenderness of the flowers, which filled the blue waves. Leaning on the piano platform, where the sound falls, it seems that the old man has come. Who is singing on the other side? Who is swaying and lonely on the piano stage when it rains?
The wisps of it tell how to make people feel at peace. The sound of the piano into a pool, the rain like ink, the night of the middle of the day, who went up to the West Building alone and painted the dream as a ferry port of falling flowers! The sound of the piano is frustrated, the stars are constant, the piano is whispered, a cup of fresh wind is poured into the wine, the cold fragrance of the body, and the hope of the deceased is counted in the blue booli of the water.
Rouge tears, safflower rain, piano sound, no old man returned. The distant mountains are as light as Dai, the fog near the water tower platform, where the Qintai incense leaves fall, and the fishing fire alone will not regret it. One mistake in the red dust, one mistake in the smoke and rain, one mistake in the wrong way, the wrong string on the piano stage, the good dream of the broken bridge of many idiot men and women.
Those who are promised to the bright moon, those who share the same life, the earth and the heavens, have become the tender wisps of cherishing the world. On the water side, stepping on the flowers and incense, picking up the moonlight pieces, indulging in dreams in the sound of the strings. Leaning on the piano platform, listening to the rain falling, who is falling flowers light hooves dust smoke.
The water is the softness in the waves of the eyes, the mountain is the rigidity in the heart, and the wind and dust are servants in the far sails of a leaf that the strings have opened. Shallow smile back, autumn water jade bone. Smoke Willow Gallery, wind curtain green curtain, piano stage flute Ren Yu Xiaoxiao, renyu yibian bridge. Pillow dream fairy town, the years flies, the wind curtain green curtain, this past years, but also the hibiscus fragrance, the water and wind are cool.
A touch of oblique sun brushed the ends of the hair, a faint sadness, lightly wiped through time, stained between the eyebrows, inadvertently, will miss. How many people can't bear to leave each other lightly and work together for the rest of their lives. But who can understand that the Ming Dynasty is like a passing water, hurriedly hiding guests, who will be the scenery along the way.
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