The fragrant dreams that linger on the other shore cover up the poignancy of the red dust. An autumn wind dance, stained with the care of the wind and snow moon, your style in the smoke and rain, thin yellow flowers, thin landscape. In the clear wind and bright moon, the rhyme of the words that are graceful and drunk, the care of the night and night in the dream, and the sorrow and joy are exhausted. This love of Tianya's broken thoughts is quiet, and in the confusion of tears, it has withered into a flap of tears.
Looking back at the end of autumn, the seasons are all your figure. Painting the sound of the piano, the strings are all my thoughts. Long red dust, you are my dream person who has turned thousands of times, and the story that looms began, and your pear blossom-like face is my eternal intoxicated sadness. A few degrees of spring and autumn, a few rounds, who remembers the time in dreams? Who remembers the vows they once took? Shaohua's easy to pass away sigh, smoke and rain, who can rely on?
In the dark of the green causeway willow, your smile blooms like a dream, distant and trance like yesterday. Through the years of thousands of years of flowing water, I can't bear the remnants of the moon in the West Building, and I can't bear to drink and leave. The beauty of reincarnation after reincarnation, putting the thoughts in your heart in the ordinary servants, holding a bunch of gentle and bright, waving a dark sleeve to welcome the incense, and looking back lightly, is still your unchanged feeling for thousands of years. In the old days, the east wind still gently praises the immortal rhyme of a thousand years.
You come from the ancient road pavilion with the west wind, frozen in the bluestone bridge of the green clothes, a Sanskrit song, washing the smoke clouds of the world, a few degrees of long-cherished wishes, a few degrees of dream language, not for the fragrance but for the drifting zero. On the green and strange, the lonely Shan shan covered up the entanglement between the flowers and willows, and the care within the red dust was the loneliness outside the red dust. Twist a little pen and ink, write a life of heartbreak, it turns out that the red dust of this world has long been separated by two ends of the riverbank.
Your smoke-like misty eyes, through the cool water moon, but you can't see through the flying sadness. Inch heart, like water tenderness, only watching the next season of reincarnation. Dancing with all your affection, breaking your hair for three thousand, don't dream of building heavily. The flowers fell and floated, and the grass of the ten-mile long causeway was swept away.
The lonely wind willow blew a round of string moon, cold a lonely soul. The mutilated pieces of poetry have stranded thousands of heart knots, buried red dust, and drifted away with the wind. Yuanshan Meidai, whose soft bones carved out whose obsession? Thousands of miles of smoke, where should we wake up tonight? The obsession of falling into samsara finally dissolves a falling flower into dust.
The origin and fall of the shattered bones, the long road, the regret of a drop of red tears and pity, can it be solved the burden of looking back for five hundred years? The time in the dream flows, and the strange road is in the depths of red dust. Your clothes fluttered, and only the rhythm of the poem was moved. The red dust that lingers in the wisps, the long memories, a few traces of the relatives scattered in the distance, the inexhaustible true feelings, each of them missing each other endlessly.
Creation is not easy, praise is the heart, tips are encouragement. Some of the content of this graphic article originates from the Network, hereby express sincere thanks, if there is any infringement, please contact the author to delete.