The night is like ink, pressing down on the sky. A moon with a faint glow hangs in the sky, like jade like water. Oh, it turned out that it was already after the Mid-Autumn Festival, and when it was another year of flowers, I suddenly realized. How much to think about in the middle of the night? Dreams are also faint, and people are also small. The water shines on the flowers, and the moonlight is bright.
Such a beautiful scenery, but I stood alone in the column, watching the hidden idleness in the moonlight, watching the interpretation of autumn flowers and autumn water. One man's world, one man's own taste of this earthly tossing and turning. So be it. Guarding the tranquility of one side, dancing alone in the earth and the earth that belongs only to me. No longer have to bother to guess your mind, so that the contradictions get deeper and deeper, and finally, the end of the world, each side, the grievances follow the wind.
Listening to a deep blues flowing slowly, I searched for a soul's habitat in the melody of the music. The ink fragrance flowing from the fingertips, passing through the poetry of the Lefu, Tang poems and Song poems. The classical complex is a dream that I long for and cannot reach, and my soul haunts my dreams. Acacia, knotted into a fragrant blossom of the fingertips, drunk with love, drunk with the moonlight.
I walked through the fireworks of the world, hoping that I would be able to cultivate my body like a lotus flower and my heart would be like a ghost. Then, put your thoughts into the Yaoqin and play a song of "Yunshui Zen Heart" in the red dust. Contrary to the words, it is as gentle as it is, and the heart is as pure as promised. Wan Di Fang is thin, and only knows the edge of the dust.
It is already difficult to return to love, and even if it is so, why not let yourself live a little more elegantly? At the very least, don't let the relationship between you and me weigh on it anymore. Meet in the deepest red dust, you to me, or I to you, in that youth, we have not missed. Your smile is imprinted into my heart, and when I think of it, there is a fragrance full of sleeves.
Flowers fall into a mound, love falls red dust. In the blink of an eye, it is maple leaves red again, and the times have changed, and it is impossible to return to the past. Walk on the path of Quemo and pick up a fallen leaf to bookmark the years. Gangnam has always been in my dreams, always outside my dreams. Listen to the wind shallow drunk, the past is leisurely. Looking forward to the end of the world, a quiet song, singing strange red face. The wind is also swift, the rain is also swift, and the people are also dashing.
Who's fingertips are half a point of melancholy and melancholy, water lane Jiangnan, azure and other smoke and rain, every year as if. The gaze under the oil-paper umbrella poured out a rain of petals. I stood in this azure blue, watching the weeping willow smoke, waiting alone for this thousands of soft colors. On a cool autumn night, the fingertips of the incense blossom into lonely flowers.
The dream locks in the autumn, the wind shakes the flower shadow, waiting for the endless desolation of the night, the lonely flower of acacia, blooming extremely enchanting, extremely stunning. The sentimentality caused by a fallen leaf, a song with scattered flowers, accompanied by the piano, plays a strange road at the end of the world. A heart fragrance, practicing the song of autumn. Floating like a drama, the soul dream is far away. The dust of the water, the ground, is already out of lights. Night, low chill. Autumn, in my fluttering thoughts, went deeper and deeper little by little.
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