The willows are like smoke, the cuckoos are playing, the brocade is embroidered, and the yellow warbler sings the harvest year.
The mud spring returned, turned to sing Fangfei, flew away, and the peach blossoms on the willow bank reflected the cuiwei.
The yellow warbler on the branch sings the sunset, builds a new home, the willows in the south of the Yangtze River, and the blue water plays in the waves.
The red hearts are charming and charming, the purple swallow whispers the good news, and the yellow warbler sings the good news.
The clear waves reflect the sunset, the mandarin ducks play in the water and the waves wash the sand, the purple swallows fly away, and the yellow warblers in the other leaf are in a hurry.
The mud purple swallow builds a new nest, sings the treetops, the butterfly bee flies the flower stamen, and the wind and the sun are beautiful and the willows are shaking.
The melodious yellow warbler sings the old song, the pleasant purple swallow prunes the new branches, the spring breeze is green and the south willow in the south, and the mandarin ducks playing in the water are at this time.
Comb the tender willows, wear the forest magpie purple swallow murmurs, and the warbler tactfully poems.
Purple swallows build old doors with mud, sing the New Year, mandarin ducks play in the pond warm, and green willows hang silk fishing scales.
The smiling yellow warbler chirps, the grass grows new sprouts and the purple swallow flies, the most amorous willow on the embankment, and the fine leaves play in the spring.
Playing in the grass house, the peach red willow green reflects the clear canal, passes through the forest, and the bloody yellow warbler cries around the tree.
The spring breeze blows the willow bees and plays with a hundred flowers, weaving brocades, and the yellow warbler cries and plays the pipa.
Wearing a drizzle, two yellow warblers and mandarin ducks are winged, drunk with spring love.
The yellow warbler sings Qingming, the purple swallow dances in the blue sky, the green willow sways in the wind, and the mandarin duck plays in the water to make a spring love.
March is red, the spring breeze blows the willows and purple swallows fly away, and the bloody yellow warbler is singing.
The willows are as green as ever, the mandarin ducks playing in the water are drawn into the picture, and the purple swallows shuttle through the brocade, singing and Shu tactfully.
The mud purple swallow yellow warbler sings a good sound, and the mandarin ducks and willows are drunk with tourists.
When the warbler sings, the purple blows the green willows in the south of the river, and plays in the small pond.
After the wind and rain in the rivers and lakes, wandering under the moon is a little sad, drunk and smiling, and the willow bank is hanging and I am leisurely.
Lovesick people in dreams, a few rejuvenation, when the moon is hand in hand, the shadow into three smiles and frequent words.
Since leisurely, the face is cold, and the shadows of the beauties under the moon are lingering.
Wandering alone against the building, the lonely lamp illuminates the willows on the shore, and the rain hits the flowers.
The horizontal window is far away, the moon is dark, and the flowers are drunk and lying and not envious of the immortals.
The rain between the flowers on the willow silk shore beats the pings, and the lovesick dreams under the moon are ghostly.
Butterflies among flowers, difficult to find willow warblers, wandering who speaks, self-affectionate.
Qinghui shines on the jade face, accompanied by a lonely lamp, and the dream of a wisp of acacia between flowers cannot be realized.
It is accustomed to the west wind blowing thin shadows, and even if there are thousands of good bottles, it is difficult to leave a wisp of soul on the willow bank.
The spring breeze blows the willows and shakes the gold, the butterflies dance and the flowers sing freely, and the moon shines on the Yaoqin.
Reminiscing about the past, painting the boat, where to send it, and the shadow was full of tears.
Who makes the sound of the flute under the moon, a song of lovesickness tilts against the shadow, the autumn wind blows the leaves on the other bank, and the flowers lie drunk until dawn.
The water reflects the sky and the moon, and it seems to hear a song, and the flowers are drunk and lying down.
Fu Cuiwei, Yan Shuangfei, who is under the moon, a song of lovesickness and sadness.
The warbler cries outside the willows among the flowers, the sand on the shore thinks about the past by the railing, and the lonely sail is far away.
Thousands of cups of drunkenness, only the end of the world is thousands of miles away, and the willow bank is vaguely dreamy.
The night is full of mountains, the acacia flowers under the moon are not smiling, and the willows are like smoke.
The willows are golden, the flowers are singing freely, and the beautiful woman under the moon takes a picture of the Yaoqin.
I don't know the year, the willow bank hangs down and the breeze blows the wine and wakes up, and the shadow falls in front of the bottle.
The thin shadow of the breeze under the moon is dark and sad, and it is difficult to dream on the other side, reminiscing about the old people.
Hearing the barking of dogs on the other side, it is difficult to dream drunk among the flowers, who is under the moon, a song of lovesickness accompanied by the shadow.
Drunk lying and listening to the wind, the willow bank is idle to see the clear water, where is the beautiful woman going, leaving a thin shadow with a lonely lamp.
Dancing and dancing, sleepless nights, where to send, ask Chanjuan about the wine among the flowers.
People don't see you, they cry, listen to the wind and rain, and the willow bank wanders to see the twilight clouds.
In March, the master has a long affection, the phoenix seeks the phoenix, the flowers fly away, and the swallows return to circle the painting beam.
The swallow returns and flies to the catkins, where is the new nest and the old base, and I don't see the owner's tears.
The new mud flies the purple butterfly, the swallows in front of the hall cut the spring breeze, and the beams murmured, but the owner was affectionate.
The new nest builds the old home, comes to plant melons, whispers under the eaves, and flies into the courtyard with mud.
The earth cracked and the mountain collapsed to lose its owner, the nest overturned the eggs, the flying stream went straight down to 3,000 feet, and the swallow tower cried and broke his soul.
Build a new home, butterflies and bees fly to the old nest, and the day is at the end of the world.
Hundreds of birds and thousands of nests are nowhere to be found, when will it be returned, the murmuring swallows return late, and the drizzle flies obliquely into the curtain.
The owner doesn't love money, builds a nest to attract the phoenix to Yaotai, and once flies away without a trace, he murmurs into a dream.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art