Dreams
Who walks away from the old dream to remember, a glance at the alleys of Jiangnan in March.
If the brush is lifted in that painting, a touch of spring color is reflected in the fun.
The willow leaves are bright against the wind, and the autumn water lights the nightingale crow.
Just to leave na danqing dizzy raindrops.
Who painted xiu eyebrows by the window, and a mountain of verdant slightly shy of red clothes?
Fingers plucked the strings twenty-one, and the tone around Liang Lightened Zhu Yan's thinness.
Be careful about the moon mirror, guan red pen one wrote the wind and moon with affection.
The flow of years did not change the West Building alone, lonely sycamore drizzle.
Walking on the bluestone slab road, the paper umbrella was hazy and did not go to the rain and mist.
It seems to be the shadow of a red candle dream, and the eyebrows next to the comb are lightly drawn and who is pitiful.
The slanting sun reddened the river, and where did the painting boat go?
Watching the smoke wave slowly, the red line disappeared.
The flower lantern illuminated the eternal knot, and the unforgettable spring thought of a city shocked the ghost.
Youth is short, if there is time to turn around and gently stroke the jade face.
Alone on the Xinhua tear stained once, How to tell the Yi people flower moon beautiful scenery.
When the old lane scenery returned to the old land, the poor flowers and branches were not like that year.
The wind and nostalgia of the heart and mind have finally gone to the past in a few words.
The words are not frivolous words, but unforgettable Yiren's hazy face.
Qiongyuan welcomed the cooking smoke away, but it was the plum blossom letter that had never existed.
Nowadays, the heavens are on different sides, as if whoever looks at it from afar, you are still wearing red makeup by the west window...
