Singing in the evening, the purple swallows in front of the eaves are busy building nests, dancing in the wind, and the spring is charming and falling asleep.
When the new moon comes, the hanging place is tied to the return boat, and the double flies away, and the yellow warbler stays tactfully.
Whisk willow silk, fireworks in March, purple swallows double flying, hundreds of chirps.
Double flying purple swallows cut clouds, hundreds of yellow warblers sing Wuhua, spring is full of garden fans, and the willow silk is gently whisking.
Mingcui bamboo, a pair of purple swallows gently brushing the peach blossom surface, the smoke and rain are misty into the painting.
The scenery of the south of the Yangtze River is fascinated, the willow silk hangs down the west of the small bridge, the mud purple swallows fly away, and the yellow warbler cries freely.
The purple swallow and yellow warbler sing good poems, and thousands of miles of rivers and mountains send warm willows and silk down.
Calling for the return of spring, Ziyan is intoxicated with thousands of willow silks.
The misty grass is green, the willow silk is swaying to the east of the small bridge, the purple swallow is murmuring, and the yellow warbler is singing tactfully.
The east wind willow silk is oblique, charming people's homes, the purple swallow builds a new nest in the mud, and the yellow warbler cries February flowers.
Build a painted beam, sing spring, peach and plum white silk long guest intestines.
Singing tactfully, Ziyan shuttles through thousands of willow threads, and the charming scenery intoxicates the poet.
There is affection and obsessiveness, and there is no power to tie back to the boat, and the mud purple swallow and yellow warbler are sad alone.
The spring breeze is blowing in the face of bees and flowers all over the garden, and the purple swallows are shuttling and singing tactfully.
It's spring again, the yellow warbler sings a good sound, the vitality is obsessed, and the tourists are drunk.
The yellow warbler sings on the tree, the spring breeze is cut, and the willow silk gently blows the bee into the painting screen.
It is suspected that Chang'e is a jade rabbit, dancing and singing, purple swallows passing through the clouds, and tactfully yellow warblers singing around the trees.
The east wind blows the willow silk overnight, the spring color of the garden is fascinating, and the mud purple swallow and yellow warbler are low.
Weaving brocade, singing harmony, charming eyes, willow silk hold my arms.
I like the yellow warbler singing the green tree, You Xin Ziyan cut the spring breeze, the willow silk swaying thousands of mountains green, and the peach stamen is shy and red.
The wind is fascinated by the grass, the green flowers are red, the willows are soft, and the purple swallows are singing tactfully on the branches.
Whisk willow silk, fascinating, mud purple swallow double flying, crying blood yellow warbler hundreds of low.
Ziyan flies and prunes green branches, yellow warblers and Li Bai have charming eyes, and the spring breeze blows willow silk.
A curtain of spring, the purple swallow comes to the clouds, and the wind cuts the willow silk butterfly shadow in every way.
The snow is not su, and a bed of bright moon and sunset is a sentence, which is not as good.
Thousands of miles long, a few hesitations at night, and two lines of tears in front of the bed with a bright moon and Jiangnan.
Rain and wind, the grass grows and the warbler flies to the empty bed, and people can't sleep, dreaming of Jiangdong.
In front of the bed, there are two lines of tears in the bright moon and the end of the world, and life is bumpy, always desolate.
The autumn wind blows the dream to Nanke, lies alone in the empty bed and listens to the rain song, where to send the acacia this night, and a bright moon shines on the long river.
The air is cool at the beginning of the day, the golden wind sends the evening cool, thinking about the past before the bed, and dreaming of Xiaoxiang several times.
Thousands of mountains are far away, thousands of miles away, people don't sleep, and a few times the soul dreams of the Blue Bridge.
When I dreamed of Yao Chi, I didn't know the bed, the flowers fell, and the bright moon stayed for a long time to take pictures of lovesickness.
The night is quieter and the moon shadow is longer, a few hesitations, no sleep, dreaming of two lines of tears in the sky.
From morning to autumn and winter, heaven and earth make pillows for the bed mountain, and I dream that the world is yellow sorghum.
Xiao Ran lay on the bamboo bed, dreamed of Xiaoxiang several times, there was no news from the water, and the lovesickness was empty day and night.
Ten years of dreaming of Xiaoxiang, the night is not young, where to send this acacia, the end of the world is long.
After years of wind and rain, the long sail is far away, the smoke and clouds are old and the trees are green, sitting alone in front of the bed and thinking about the past, and the soul dreams of Xiaoxiang several times.
Always empty, sighing that the moon shines on the lonely shadow of life, and the twelve peaks of the mountain.
The bright moon in front of the bed shines red makeup, two lines of tears, sighing how bumpy life is, and always hesitating towards the flowers.
No dream to the grave, lying alone in an empty bed sleepless at night, yin and yang are separated by yin and yang, and grow in the nine heavens.
In the spring of smoke and rain, the morning flowers and sunset are always sad, taking pictures in the air, dreaming that there is no one on the side of the king.
The sunset obliquely shines on the long sky and looks far away, thinking about the past, and dreaming of Xie Niang Bridge several times.
Illuminating the cold window, dreaming of the end of the world, how bumpy life is, always desolate.
Dreaming of Jiangnan remembering his hometown, a bed of bright moon shining on the cold window, picking up people haggard at sunset, and the wind and rain are shaking and the night is long.
Hang the long tips, a few wisps of breeze in front of the bed to think about the past, tonight there is a dream of the Ming Dynasty.
There is always no reason to pick up the night, and the tears of the year have not dried, and the bright moon shines in front of the bed tonight, and the soul dreams of the township.
Sitting alone in front of the bed, the soul dreams of the home state, and the night is long and sleepless, and the sound of autumn enters the small window.
Dreaming of Xiaoxiang, where to send the acacia in the night rain, the road is long.
The night is thick in the sound, the moon on the plane tree is hazy, a good autumn scene, and the wine is drunk with the evening breeze.
Blowing dreams to Xiaoxiang, into the pillow cool, the rain hit the sycamore flowers falling, and the cold crickets complain.
Where are the fairy couples now, only to see the moonlight in Penglai