That year, that day, that time, met in the red dust, and since then the flowers have been particularly gorgeous, the wind is particularly gentle, and the eyes are full of beauty. A certain year, a certain day, a certain time, you quietly left, a depression will always stay in the heart, a thousand cups to buy drunk, just to forget the past you.
Spring flowers, summer drizzle, autumn dew silver frost, winter cold flying snow. Quietly in the depths of the red dust, counting the cycles of time. Listen to the sound of flowers falling before the independent court, and taste the taste of loneliness. Watch the morning light rise slowly, but the sun must be set. Looking forward to the bright moon in the sky, I was hurt and lonely.
How to cut off the lovesickness and no longer worry about the Chinese year? Thin clothing list, deeper dew, cold wind at night, for whom to eliminate people haggard? Long nights of loneliness and tears. A sadness, a dark star, a red dust, unspeakable. Under the moonlit night, who sings the mountain without edges? And dye the acacia thoroughly. Fluorescent pigment flow, searching for purple carved beams, no double flying swallows.
The lotus pond has been crippled and Tilian, the wind rolls the curtains, the painting hall is still the same, but it is people who go to the empty building, when will they lead the old dream? Who solves the chase between the clouds and the moon, the wisps of flowers and butterflies? Autumn water has long been in the world, the years have crippled Shaohua, and the wind and sand have passed away for many years. The frost withered the leaves, and the dew dyed the green hair. In a miserable smile, a glass of wine, a tear, scattered dust, the past with the smoke.
Flowers fall into a mound. What time is the yellow flowers full of autumn, blooming to the flowers, dust and smoke, how much of the past is left? The fate is gone, the dream is over, how long can the past love be clear? How many memories can withstand the impregnation of years like water? In the rotation of season after season, the once thousand-layered waves will eventually transform into faint ripples like dragonflies, and gradually subside, and the waves will be like mirrors.
Tonight the crescent moon is like a hook, and the cold wind blows a pool of autumn water. Tea smoke is thick, confused thoughts, unintentionally provoking lovesickness but remembering the time, a party, a pen, a plain note, has faded the past. A song of clear songs to the moon, there is no complaint or implication. After tasting the intensity of the wine, now I only love a cup of tea. The past is like a fleeting moment, that is, Fanghua is exclusive, open and charming, defeat is also no regrets, geese pass a curtain of autumn, and the past is scattered with smoke.
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