Author: Zhang Xueyong
The hairpin of the years, the time is smiling, the spring breeze is ten miles, not as good as you, a season of red makeup, clouds and moon.
There is always a flower, drunk with the spring breeze, there is always a pot of wine, forgetting the way home. Whose time is not affectionately looking back? Whose years are not lovesick reunions?
There is always a story, overflowing with joy, there is always a period of joy, as beautiful as the first sight. Affectionate lives up to the appointment, poetry and ink lack lovesickness?
At the turn of life, there are always some past events worth remembering, and there are always some experiences that are difficult to let go. What can't be kept is the time, and what can't be let go is the deep love.
Who is my lovesickness? Who is my dream? If your heart is like my heart, I will know that my lovesickness is deep. One night of apricot blossom drunk, the wrong marriage to the east wind hate.
The old time, a line of poems, a slight reading at dusk, white moonlight. The falling flowers are red, the years are new, and time is speechless for a cup of tea. The beauty is just right, and the joy is light.
Don't be lovesick and bitter, and be willing to be with you. There is a bright moon at dusk, and we meet happily in our dreams. Lilac branches, spring breeze in dreams, fragrant sleeves in front of the window. Write poems for you, worry for you.
The amorous only hears the spring court moon, and the falling flowers are haggard for the memory of the monarch. In the evening of the spring rain at dusk, Mo Dao is not ecstatic, the curtain rolls the east wind flowers and tears, and the eaves rain.
Always inadvertently, thinking of your existence, always in the old house at dusk, watching the moon hanging in the sky. Maybe people can't get out of a love word in this life, or maybe there is the best arrangement in the reincarnation of the passing years.
There is always a flower, drunk with the spring breeze, there is always a pot of wine, and I forgot to return. As soon as I thought of it, the green silk ran into white hair, and when I thought of it, the wind and rain chased the end of the world.
I don't know what to do, I go deep, I don't know what I think, and the years are empty. Only when you are drunk do you know that the wine is strong, and only when you love do you know deeply.
Dreaming into the depths of the clouds, people are far away from the world. Every stroke is your appearance, and when you get drunk and wake up, it's all your lovesickness. I give the loneliness to the years, thousands of purples and thousands of reds, and the eyes are full of spring.
Maybe the ending of life is not perfect, and I work hard to live, just for the ups and downs. Regardless of the return date, you have your own period, and you don't want to leave.
Perhaps, you will always be the same as before, with the spring breeze in your eyebrows, spring water in your eyes, a season of spring scorching in the flowers, and fragrant poetry and rhyme on the corners of your lips.