In the west of the small bridge, the birds do not cry, thousands of leaves, and the phoenix perches on the plane tree.
Sleepless at night, open for another year, go with the wind, only the dark fragrance with the full moon.
The autumn wind is bleak and the leaves are scattered, falling all over the court, no one asks, only the dark fragrance is accompanied by the moon.
The dead branches of the old trees float all over the world, the sycamore rises in the autumn wind overnight, and the fallen leaves drift to my house.
The dark fragrance of spring is strong, the dead branches are thin and the cold wind is proud, the leaves fall into ordinary things, and the sycamore under the moon is different.
The rain hits the sycamore in autumn, full of Chang'an, no one asks about the defeated grass, only the dark fragrance is still remnant.
The maple leaves are red like fire, the sycamore is green everywhere, the dead branches and grass go with the wind, and only the dark fragrance refreshes my heart.
The thin shadow is horizontal, the dark fragrance floats incomprehensibly, and the lovesickness is bitter, and it flies down all over the court.
Hanmei Aoxue spits out dark incense, dressed in silver, Ye Maogen can't hide deeply, and the sycamore is waiting for the rising sun.
The swallows cut the spring mud, the smoke willows are slightly green and full of embankments, the most amorous March rain, and the cuckoos cry.
Reflecting the small building, the wind and rain hit a few sorrows, the south bank of the river, where to stay where the swallows fly.
After the rain, when will the leaves fall and the south bank of the river, the swallows will return and it will be autumn.
Fine willows, murmuring swallows are all over the ground and no one sweeps them, wet guest clothes.
The swallows return to the fine willows and soft, the branches are faint in spring, the wind and rain are fearless, and the peach blossoms are artesian.
The peach blossoms are fragrant, the rain hits the south bank of the plantain fog cage river, and the swallows return to break their bowels.
The banana night is not young, the sycamore falls to the fragrance of osmanthus, the autumn wind does not understand the subtlety, and the ground is full of frost.
When the autumn wind returned overnight, people did not return, and the rain was falling on a day when the remnants were red.
The mud nest is busy, and the rain is fine, and the garden is full of flowers.
The peach blossoms return in spring, the east wind blows the rain and wets the clothes, the grass is even blue, and the swallows fly away and do not return.
The wind blows the spring and returns, the willow silk hangs, the smoke rises in the Qingming season, and the swallows fly away and do not return.
It is Qingming, the willow is green, and the peach blossoms are blowing and the rain is drifting away.
Flying to spring and returning, the smoke willows in the south of the Yangtze River bring rain and rouge wet, and the east wind falls all over the night
Thousands of old trees have fallen, new lotus flowers have bloomed, and the misty swallows have returned.
The peach blossom people in March in the south of the Yangtze River have not returned, and the swallows have flown again in a night.
Full of Qiankun, returning to look for old traces, the remnants of the red spring have gone, and they are even more ecstatic.
The swallows flew again, as thin as a cloud, and the rain hit the plantains all over the land looking forward to the king's return.
The fallen trees are depressed, the sun shadows are slanted, the windows are wet, the cold air invades people's bones, and the swallows return and do not see their homes.
After the rain, the sun is slanting, the breeze blows down the flowers, and the grass flies low into my house.
Into the curtain, the fine willow wind, no one is seen, in the sound of rain last night.
The double flying swallows cut the spring breeze, the fine willows are slightly green and red, the rain is clear, the flowers are beautiful, and the sunset falls in the river.
The pear blossom rain hit the night and drifted away, and the faint spring color flew into the picture screen.
Dropping to the light, the leaves are drifting, the night is as cool as water, and the swallows are counting the stars.
The snow has not disappeared overnight, the mud swallows blow down the peach blossom water, and the rain hits the plantain to cross the small bridge.
The wind is slight, the sky is clear and the sun is shining, and the clouds and waves are rolling the branches and magpies returning.
The cold air is slight, the fallen leaves are scattered, the geese fly south, and the birds return to the north.
Recalling the old years, the years pass like smoke, and the red dust is another day in life.
The falling leaves are frightened, the red dust is full of years, and the clouds are light.
The red dust has added a little melancholy, the human affection is as thin as paper, and the tears are long.
Love the sky and hate the sea are separated, the old man is vaguely seen in the dream, the melancholy autumn wind blows the leaves, and I don't know where to find the red dust.
Frozen three or five dreams, a hundred years of love with the lights of ten thousand homes, Mo Dao has no confidant, and he is worried about the moon.
Add melancholy, wash the red dust, thin as paper, and the most sad in lovesick dreams.
Everything is difficult in the dust, tears are in chaos, people are old, and the limited time is accompanied by dreams.
Love to the depths of self-leisure, across the Xie Bridge, blowing inexhaustibly, the red dust is a ride to let the drift.
In the dream, there is no old love, how sad Hongchen is, melancholy and speechless to the moon.
melancholy and resentful spring returns, see through the red dust right and wrong, human affection is as thin as paper, and lovesickness dreams are always gray.
Riding a thousand red dusts, a few people know, the most is the moon on the horizon, and I vaguely laugh at me in my dreams.
A song of lovesickness is true, and when I saw Yiren in a few dreams, I was melancholy and hateful, and I was drunk and full of tears.
Dreams are short, difficult to read, and lonely If there is a soulmate, then remember your hometown.
The melancholy life is not self-sustaining, who knows, ruthlessness is the most moonlit in the sky, and the clear light in the middle of the night shines on dreams.
Seeing through the lightness, why bother sighing and falling into the UK, Mo Dao's affection is as thin as paper, and he calls the name of the Qing in his dreams.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art