Author: Wang Guojun.
Butterflies love flowers. Honka Nostalgia in the compound.
Verdant and still pine-colored. Pity my pale face, whispering the wind and branches.
I once remembered that the moonlight cast the shadow of the trees, and he walked on the path of the forest with a book.
The world is said to be the fate of heaven and man. The vicissitudes of life, I want to ask who should answer.
It's already a water flow, why do you want to look at Yunling?
Note: Those who have pine trees next to the yamen are over 220 years old. Yu Qiaoguan first saw this wood, towering to the sky, and gave birth to a heroic atmosphere. The stars are moving, the wind and rain are bathed, and the spring and autumn of forty-two years have passed, and the remaining frost is full of sideburns, and the green pines are still lush and green, standing tall and strong.
January 10, 2024.
Qing Pingle. Climb the horse head mountain at dusk.
Where is the Homeland? Full of new village villas.
A few wisps of red sunset in the sky, reflecting the vertical and horizontal mountain roads.
Childhood is vague, green and yellow are not always hungry.
Blowing away the bleak wind and rain, and now there is more heart.
January 11, 2024.
Painting hall spring. The warm winter is like spring, and the sun and the moon are like a shuttle.
The branches and buds want to wake up in the afternoon and winter sun, and the bamboo forest is noisy and the birds are long.
Passers-by sweat and chase the wind and cool, suspicious of spring.
The dream of a thrilling trip on the Wanli, a glass of wine into the bowels.
Hate the dry snow flying, empty plum fragrance.
January 12, 2024.
Mountain fog. The mist of the mountains filled my side, cutting off the troubles of the world.
I also lost the direction of my heart.
The trees have been melted.
And the firethorn in front of him hides countless suns.
They don't want to hang in the sky.
But they want to turn into lovesick red beans.
Concerned about distant places.
I wish this sun was the fire.
Burn the memories of the fog and the tears of the dead leaves.
Let the ashes scatter to.
The hill of the bright moon.
and vast fields.
Accompanied. Sparkling jade.
and a girl with long hair.
January 14, 2024.
Ghostface City. Saying you're a lion-faced doesn't feel prestigious.
Say you're a cat face and feel undocile.
I don't care what you are.
will be asked rhetorically.
The only thing to say is that you are an ethereal grimace.
But it was unanimously approved.
In fact, you are a rock washed by the water of the ancient Yangtze River.
Stone Town has added a mysterious pattern to you.
The grimace frightened the heart of the ghost.
Ghost talk deceived the eyes of the ghostless.
January 15, 2024.