The rain locks the spring building, the ink pen of the case is messy, the white silk language is not written, the ink marks of a book are half a volume of words, and the wonderful pen is waved lightly, but it has never painted a handsome face. The green mountains are stacked, and the red sleeves of the wind and moon are still fluttering. Spotted love for life, the breeze passes, the drizzle sprouts, and the fragrance of flowers is still falling
In the screen, Zhu Yan, sighing loudly, and the infatuation in the red dust is like a flowing cloud. Dressed in a green shirt, the sleeves are elegant, the candlelight is faint, drunk Xuan Mo, leaving traces of the amorous words in the poem, and the phantom in the pen is a person. The willow embankment flutters to the side, a poem is written, purple and strange smoke, with a little elegant, with a little resentment.
Sigh lightly, the sound of smoke and rain for several years, showing the grace of the lotus, showing the fluttering of the butterfly dance. Wearing a faint green shirt, looking back at dusk, an accidental moment of the heart was throbbing, vaguely long pavilion and short pavilion, wanting to speak. The flowers are like smoke clouds, the heart is fragrant and the green curtains, the flowers fall Bodhi deeply, and the green veil covers the sunny windows.
The canopy of the sky fell a rain of fireworks, transparent water droplets dripping, and the lights were on, who was it?A flat boat, flowers fall on the other side. The scene of looking forward to you stirred the delicacy of the mind, and since then it has fallen into the red dust. A wind chime, a wild goose, always can't escape the struggle of fate, the red dust seems to be another world, light ink falling into the city, with a trace of resentment, nostalgic for the world.
The breeze passes, the smoke and rain are far away, the catkins are floating, and the dust is dancing.
Hiding somewhere, missing someone, someone who once walked past here. Silent recitation, perhaps, is a detail in a memory. I'm waiting, waiting for a promise. The most pitiful smoke and rain are more condensed, the branches and leaves are all about love, the acacia is a drunken city wound, the sound of the rain is traceless and moistens the flowers, romantic leaves, and the flowing water.
The dream climbs the high pond, the lovesick eyes are longer and the night is longer, the ink is melancholy, the dust paints the boat, the blue yarn is not collected in the small Xuan window, the Yiren is red makeup, and the empty room is silently guarded for whom. When we meet, we will not forget that the wind and rain used to be like a brocade. Draw the bridge and stream, the dust is flying, and the wind is cooler in autumn. Wandering, crystal knowing, silent in dreams, knowing how many flowers fall and bloom.
The red dust is on the shadow of the moon, the remnants of the red and weak willows, leaning on the window and dipping the ink are still the same. The plum leaves the fragrance on the sleeves, the acacia caresses the slight wrinkles, from the other king, the light breathes, and the person is thin. With a snap of his fingers, he hid all the wounds of the past, just for a hopeless cry, laughing at the helplessness of a lifetime, laughing at a step and a cheek, whose sorrow is brilliant?
The spring breeze is planted all over the courtyard, and a gentle breeze drifts by, stirring up ripples in the bottom of the heart. Fangfei is lonely, the moon is falling, maybe some feelings are destined by God, and some beginnings are destined to be mistakes. If I am silent, it is the beginning of longing. At this moment, there is a wisp of lovesickness, a kind of looming touch, and a gaze twists the heart into wisps, and every bit of it is hidden in a faint dream.
Wind and rain road, love tears, moon shadows, midnight mistakes, red dust dreams, empty hate, sunset accompaniment.