Thinking of the old people under the moon, the love is as deep as the sea. The wind blows lightly and the willows are green, and the water is still reflecting the moonlight. The past is like smoke, and parting is like a dream. The thoughts are deep in the bones, and the heart hurts.
Far away from people, sad and resentful. The independent river is late, and the spring is self-sufficient.
The jackdaws are ten thousand times, and the green willows are blowing the green shirts. The old man's news is broken, where can this situation be.
The birds in the empty mountains are quiet, and the sunset is lonely and cold. Message to Tianyake, lovesickness is not tears.
The breeze blows, and the bright moon shines on the list. Looking back at the end of the world, my heart flows with the water.
The jade pot is drunk, and the golden bottle sleeps on the moon. I met and laughed in my dreams, and I woke up with tears in my eyes.
The parting is inexhaustible, and the reunion is longer. Who can understand this situation, only think about it.
Last night, I dreamed of Langjun, and forgot to pick mulberry in the basket. The moonlight is as clear as water, and the wind is as cold as frost.
The flowers are gone, and the tears are full of clothes. The spring breeze does not blow, and the autumn moon shines without a trace.
The independent river is late, and the spring is self-sufficient. The trail is unattended, and the grass is as green as smoke.
Where to go to the lonely Hong, leaving the sorrowful passenger ship. Looking back at the sunset, the end of the world is long.
Where to complain about this situation, drunk and lying in front of the wine bottle. The moonlight is as clear as water, and the wind is as cold as a string.
The old people met and laughed, and the song was not finished. Tonight's flowers are exhausted, and the Ming Dynasty is another year. The city is full of wind and loneliness, and spring returns late.
The years are like a shuttle urging people to grow old, and the sunset is red several times. The rest of the past goes with the clouds, and the new sorrow is on the eyebrows.
In the past, it was prosperous, but now it is only desolate. Sitting alone in a small building listening to the night rain, my thoughts are boundless.
Where is the voice of the heart, looking at the sky and the moon like a sickle. May this love last as long as the first time I saw it, and live up to the time.