The rain is sunny and refreshing, standing in the river tower and looking into the distance, seeing the clouds and shadows in the air, the slanting sun is covered, and the afterglow is like drunk. The flower path is blurred, the grass is like grass, the swallows are dancing lightly, and the mud is homecoming. Raise your eyes to the distant mountains like daisies, the mountains are stacked on top of each other, and the emptiness is like an ink painting. The gloomy river, the veins and the sun, rely on the railing thoughts, and follow the flow of clouds. Joys and sorrows, several springs and autumns, the years are in a hurry, and the heart is difficult to describe.
Recalling the past, like a flowing year, youth is like a dream, nostalgia, flowers fall and bloom. The love of the wind and the moon is deep, the world is full of states, and the love of the landscape is long. Poetry and wine talk about the wind, the world is like a cloud, go back in style, let the vicissitudes of the years go. The rhythm is clear, the word card is stretched, and the ink is splashed, expressing the pride in the heart. A new song and a glass of wine, last year's weather old pavilion. When will the sun set?Helplessly, the flowers fell, and the familiar swallow returned. The small garden incense path wanders alone.
Snow is like plum blossoms, plum blossoms are like snow. Wrapped in silver in the cold season. The white butterflies flutter all over the sky, reflecting the plum blossoms on the branches. The frozen world is colorless. The unique plum blossom is a little red. Floating thousands of trees are full of hatred, and Bing Qingyu is smiling coldly.
The snow is like dust, the winter night is long and people walk alone, and the stars are dotted, reflecting the silent roadside. The wind is bleak, blowing away thoughts like clouds, The years are in a hurry, and it is another year of cold winter. The long street is lonely, the lights are like a dream, and the moon is alone, and the heart is difficult to calm down. The past is like the wind, floating in the long river of years, nostalgic for the past, people are no longer the same, and the heart is difficult to regain. The plum blossoms are gone, the years are ruthless and withering, Winter goes to spring, life is like a dream. The road is long, where is the long way back, There are a thousand knots in the heart, just waiting for the spring breeze to blow away.