Rafting light boat, when the maple leaves are red, the water is artesian, infinitely good, and life can have a few autumns.
Frost maple leaf reed flower white like silver, infinitely good, a river of spring drunk tourists.
Sending off the boat, the green mountains on both sides of the river, the reeds and flowers fly the egrets, and the red mansion falls.
A night of frost and autumn all over the ground, the river and the sky are scarce and the water flows eastward, the reed flowers are like snow and go with the wind, and the maple leaves are like Dan to accompany the guests.
Manting Zhou, the maple leaves are sparse and some people are worried about independence, and a flute rises in the autumn.
Fishing songs sing the evening boat, a cloud of smoke and rain fishing spring and autumn, Dongjun blows the green willows in the south of the river, and the fragrance of flowers enters the small building.
Listen to the wind and sing the dusk to the moon, and come to catch fishing songs to send late spring.
Return to the wild flute, the woodcutter is drunk with the sunset, and crosses the small bridge.
Fishing the moon on the horizon, a song of fishing singing the sunset, the reed flowers startle the egrets, and the flute blows the catkins and falls into the green yarn.
When the fishing song is sung at night, a few people know that the clear waves blow a thousand waves, and the wind sends the fragrance into the wine.
Add elegant rhyme, enter the poetry bag, and come to fish alone and sing at night.
The jade flute is played in the horizontal window, the dark fragrance is full of sleeves and the cold river snow is fished alone, and a fishing song falls into a dream.
Sitting alone on the fisherman, the fishing song sings in the evening sky, and the wind moves the reeds to blow down in the moonlight.
The fishing song is not too late to hang the hook at night, and the most important thing is that Dongjun sent me into a new poem.
The spring heart is moving, the banana jade flute is blowing, and the cold river is a guest, and I don't want to return.
The willows are chaotic, the smile is red, and the cold river is fishing alone in a dream.
Fishing Weng vertical line cloud is interesting, the water is affectionate, the flowers are drunk, and the flute blows the willow and the birds contend.
The fishing song sings late and the village is lonely, the willow fishing is clear and the moon shadow is sparse, and a burst of autumn fragrance and red leaves are full of rivers and lakes.
The snow is piled up, the Shuo is blowing, the moon in the river, and the fishing song is in the dream.
One night, the east gentleman blows for the first time, the soft breeze and drizzle moistens the fragrant flowers, and the spring river water is fished alone, and the evening fishing song is accompanied by the heron.
Fishing alone in the cold river and singing the sunset red at night, the golden wind sends cool and sorrowful into a dream.
Singing the late return, the moonlight, the flute blows through the south bank of the river, and the wind sends the fragrance of flowers into the cuiwei.
The wind and the sun are warm and the winter is warm, the blowing surface is not cold, the fish are playing in the water, and the fishing song is waving in the sky.
Blowing sideburns white, the wind shakes a tree and falls red, and the idle fishing song falls into a dream.
Fishing in the autumn sky, a fishing song remnants of the clouds return to the geese, east of the small bridge.
The fishing song is far away, the willow shadow of Qingxi is long, and Mo Daoqiu comes to send the fragrance of chrysanthemums.
Blowing the tsunami, how can the smoke rise on the northern island, singing and tears.
Butterflies fly around to find new poems, the spring is good, and the sun is late.
The swallows are back in spring, thousands of red and purple are fighting Fangfei, the cuckoos are returning, and the butterflies are flying in their dreams.
Qianhong is always empty, the head of the rock sits and watches the water flow east, the sound of spring will be old, and the butterfly dream flowers are thick.
Crying cuckoos, dancing, weeping guests, thousands of purples and thousands of reds are always fate.
The butterfly dance is colorful, the sound of the cuckoo breaks the soul, the spring is splendid, and the rock head stands and looks forward to returning to the people.
Idle to sit alone fishing rocks, into the eyes of the fascination, the branches of noisy, frightened butterflies in the dream.
The spring of the red and purple rocks is coming again, and the most is the place where the cuckoo cries blood, and the butterfly dances and wanders.
The rain is like smoke in the sound, the butterflies are full of flowers in the dream, the rocky head thinks about the past, and it is another year.
Butterflies fly to the body is a dream, blood into poetry, after the return of spring, sitting alone on the head of the sun and shadows.
Rock head sits alone on the moon like a hook, thousands of purples and thousands of reds look at it, Modao cuckoo can't stop crying, and butterflies go down to Yangzhou.
The garden is full of spring, the swallow is cuckoo crying blood, and the butterfly is in a dream.
The cuckoo cries blood and tears on the scarf, and the people in the dream sit alone on the rockhead to think about the past, and it is spring again.
Butterflies play hibiscus, tactful rhododendrons sing green bamboos, thousands of purples and thousands of red flowers are splendid, and fishing is fun.
Fishing rocks, purple stalks and breaks green poplar branches, spring returns, butterflies fly and cry.
Thousands of purples and thousands of reds sit alone on the fishing rocks, the sun is twilight, and the butterflies fly into Cuiwei.
Call the cuckoo, the garden is full of butterflies and weeping on the rock, always fate.
In the dream, the butterflies are dancing, the cuckoos outside the window are crying in the dawn, the thousands of purples and saffrons are blooming, and the fishing on the rocks is leisurely.
Looking into the distant sky, the sound of thousands of red and purple crying blood is still there, and the dream of butterflies and flowers has passed.
Ten thousand purple competitions, swallows at the head of the rock, the most is the cuckoo crying blood, butterflies dancing on the flower island.
The spring rain Xiaoxiang butterflies dance, and the fishing rocks are always fatal.
Go with the butterflies, the new sorrow is not ten thousand purple spring will be exhausted, and the fishing rocks will be brushed.
Fishing alone in a clear river, thousands of purples and thousands of reds into the eyes, cuckoos cry blood, butterflies around the flowers.
Another year, fishing boats, spring will grow old in the sound of rhododendrons, and butterflies will bloom in their dreams.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art