Written by Mita
It's a pity that my writing is mediocre.
I can't write about the green grass of Heavenly Street.
All things sprout and flourish.
Woke up the brook by the fence.
A joyful leap.
It's like telling you about the harmony of the painting.
It also awakens the romance of butterflies.
So there was that heartstring-tugging moment.
Laugh lightly and dance gracefully.
It's a budding beauty.
I'm afraid I won't let down the young age of this time.
It's a pity that my writing is mediocre.
Can't write about fiery passion.
The quiet thing is intimate, soft and windy.
The beauty of the swaying leaves and the sound of the cicadas.
The unobstructed density.
Deep and vigorous.
It was a youthful face, full of sweat.
Full of joy. And full of sincerity.
In the wind, in the rain.
The dreams of the strugglers rise on the earth.
It's a pity that my writing is mediocre.
I can't write about the yellow sycamore.
The desert smoke is deep and wide, and the stars are flying through the sky.
I can't pick the crescent moon on the horizon.
I can't lift the gust of wind on the original.
Loneliness, love lingering.
How dare you waste this industrious pen and ink?
But the shadow of the wild goose is hidden, and it can't write the autumn sky.
The leaves are red and frosty, and I can't write the years calmly.
Only by raising the pen and looking at the sky, the stars are clear.
Entrust the moon on the horizon and move forward with you.
It's a pity that my writing is mediocre.
The white clouds that can't write about the fairyland scatter the cold sky.
Looking for plum several degrees, Qionghua is crystal clear.
On a cold night in the mountains, the white house patrols.
I can't write the old dream of Zhumen, and I sit alone in the north window.
Three thousand dreams, the moon is bright.
Pick up bits and pieces of plain hearts.
Sealed with the earth, let it Ruiye secretly chase in the past in front of the pavilion.
Even if there is a poetic light.
It is not enough to tell the cold and lonely sorrow, but the shadow of Cangshan is faint, and there is no singing and dancing in the deep winter.