The five-star banner of Shenzhou is magnificent, the sun is beautiful and the water is beautiful.
Thunder, the world is frightened, the Great Wall of blood drives tigers and leopards, and the clear blue sea kills whales.
In March, the flowers are full of branches, and the rhododendrons are crying blood and dancing in the wind, which is the time of the land of China.
Cast the Great Wall, the sun shines on the sweat and green, and the flag shows the five stars everywhere in the spring breeze.
Showing the majestic wind, one billion Shenzhou Danxinyang world, dyeing the sky.
Thousands of miles of spring, holding high the nine clouds, the cuckoo cries blood and the sun shines on the old people.
Reflecting the evening sun, the remnants of the sun are like blood and dancing in the wind, and the state dream is a dream.
The bloody rain and bloody wind shine like fire and dust, the mountains and rivers are strong, and the sun and the moon are new.
The wine flag is placed diagonally on the riverside, looking at the sky of Shenzhou, the sun is red like fire, and the cuckoo is full of blood.
Thousands of miles of wolf smoke rises, Chixian County's thousand-year-old flag is raised, the man is not afraid of death, and Dan's heart is shining in the autumn sun.
Mu Xinyang, Baihuifang, Hui Sun and Moon, Shenzhou Wanli is healthy.
The blood casts a monument, the sun shines on the green and faint, red like fire, and the land of China is full of sunrise.
Qingqi Anti-Japanese War drove away the Japanese invaders, thousands of miles of frontier, the yang world, full of enthusiasm to create brilliance.
There is nowhere in Shenzhou to fly in the sky, the Great Wall of blood drives tigers and leopards, and the sun rises to the earth to call for spring.
The mountains are soaring, the bloody men are bold, the military flag is red like fire, and the land of China is surging with spring tides.
The heroes are dyed with blood on the Great Wall, thousands of miles are red, the flags are floating all over the world, and the east wind is everywhere in China.
A flag of wind and rain for a hundred years of autumn, thousands of miles of Shenzhou compete for freedom, Mo Dao is infinitely good, full of blood for whom.
The smoke rises, the acacia in front of the bed alone disperses with the wind, and the butterfly dances lightly.
Sleeping alone in an empty bed listening to the rain, what year is it, this life has been a floating guest, just waiting for the spring breeze to scatter paper money.
The clouds open at night, the breeze is a good companion to return to the hometown, a few wisps of cooking smoke surround the village, and a round shines on my bed.
Between the green water, the floating clouds scatter to see the blue sky, the fishing song is far away, and the drunk lies on the stone bed and listens to the rain.
When the smoke rises, the bright moon shines on people, scattering, and turning into lovesickness into a dream.
The light is like water, and the smoke behind the house is accompanied by the hazy wind, thousands of homes.
The fog disperses and the clouds open to see the dawn, the sky is auspicious, thousands of households smoke up, and magpies climb the branches to make a lot of trouble.
The rhyme is long, scattered into the breeze and smoke drifting in the distance, and a bright moon shines on the empty bed.
Cooking smoke is born in the house, and there is no wind and rain to the bed, why should the boat be distributed to go, and the fisherman will fish the rock.
The sleepless place in the middle of the night is the hometown, and the breeze turns into a long dream.
The wind blew away, and the sky was full of people, and the dream was lonely.
If you have to compose poems, you don't know how many people scatter into the world, and the jade grains are like listening to the night rain on the bed.
The house is ripe and fragrant, the moon is full of beds, the most is the dead of night, and the lamp is still a reader.
The geese and his entourage, passing the Chongyang Festival, looked at their hometown before getting up from the smoke.
Poetry and elegance, splashing ink around the farmhouse, drunk and dreaming before bed.
Wrapping around the nine heavens, the rattan bed shakes in a dream, and the bright moon in the west mountain at sunset is used for firewood.
The bright moon in front of the bed does not know the sorrow, and I want to make the acacia river endless.
Falling like snow, flowing fireflies flying like stars, cooking smoke misty, illuminating the empty court.
The intention is to urge the flowers to be old, the ground is full of incense, and the sunset cooking smoke and the bright moon shine on the empty bed.
In March, the smoke and rain in the south of the Yangtze River, half a life of idiot, blowing away the peach blossom dream, turned into a small poem of lovesickness.
In the middle of the night in the autumn rain, the smoke is the hometown, and the green mountains are accompanied by the faint fragrance of ink.
Dissipate sorrow, feel a lot, float thousands of miles, and the bright moon shines on the hillside.
The poems are used to express the chest, the wine is dissipated by the wind, the sunset has not risen, and a bright moon shines on the bedside.
The bright moon shines on the west mountain at sunset, and the firewood is half-hidden in the lovesick dream.
The charm is long, not home, and the wisps of green smoke go with the wind, turning into acacia and dreaming.
Wandering the world for another year, it is difficult to sleep if you want to bend your heart into a dream, and the past turns into smoke with the wind.
Where is it good, the spring breeze dreams to the south of the Yangtze River, and the light boat is full of moon.
Tears are blowing, and the past is like smoke drifting in the wind.
Singing to the moon, where to find a bosom friend, a wisp of green smoke and lovesickness into a deep dream.
Where is it good, the lovesick heart bends into the dream, and the silk turns into smoke.
Jiangnan smoke willow Xiaoxiang into a lot of dreams, drifting with the wind for thousands of miles, not singing.
When will the lovesickness fall into a dream, the past is like smoke in front of you, the heart song floats thousands of miles with the wind, and the ends of the world are full of Chanjuan.
To whom the heart bends, looking at the end of the world, tears are not dry, like smoke passing away with water, lovesickness into a dream and sending it to the clouds.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art