Winter is deep, snow is flying, leisurely, drunk dusk.
After the vicissitudes of time, into the snow. A line of poems, the snow falls for the thought, a city of snow, time stranded. Do you remember: the people of the winter are laid-back.
Don't complain about the wind and frost, only hate Huafa early. Recalling the cold early winter, the passing years are affectionate. Twist a finger of light snow, plain white three watches, fishing three rivers thin cold, little snow on the trail.
The deep snow in winter is the thought, and the people in the city are idle. Looking at the mountains from afar, you can't see the peaks, thinking about the water flow everywhere with ice, a journey to the mountains and rivers and a journey to the cold, and it is difficult to fish in the distant shadow of a lonely sail. The ink is light, the red plum is multiplying, the fence is covered with snow, and the old vine is broken. The night of flowers is like spring, and the snow at dawn is drunk and floating.
As soon as the snow falls, winter returns. Small sitting pavilion poetry wine guest, plum blossom branches compassionate. Cover a shoulder of wind and snow, and plant two or two winter winds. If it is a garden full of ink paintings, only the wind and snow night return.
The northerners love the minor tune, a melodious song in the wilderness wind and snow, and a song that embellishes the lover's duet;Light a street lamp, blur the dusk, get drunk and snowy, and listen to the wind. At a glance, I fell in love with the poetry of the wind and snow, and at a glance, I recorded the appearance of dusk.
I don't know when I fell in love with this snowy dusk. A string of footprints, out of the desolation of the world, a line of street lamps, flowers and shadows. One line is fireworks, one line is poetic, stepping into the spring light, drunk and lying in the west window.
The snow is sleepless, drunk and lovesick, and the past is sad and joyful. Time is silent, counting the long time. There is snow in the twilight, and I hear the barking of the chaimen dog in the morning, which is the return of the wind and snow night.
Life has also carnival young, teasing the wind and snow, and this year is old, just waiting to have a good time. The small town cooks wine and asks for the passing year, which can meet a good time or rub shoulders. In the fireworks place, cook porridge and be warm, in the red dust, and the shoulders are covered with plum fragrance.
May all the beauty in the world be drunk and floating, and may all encounters be at the right time. A stream of clouds, a pot of wine, a snowstorm, a courtyard of incense.
Allure is idle, and winter is unharmed. May you walk through the front at the right time and have a good journey.