has become a Weng, the years are in a hurry, and the people of the past look at the sky with tears in their eyes.
Where to find a bosom friend, when a song of lovesickness falls, the green silk and white hair are difficult to find.
Loneliness is really like tears, Yiren is always sad, Mo Daoqing wakes up from a dream and travels again.
When I woke up from the dream, I had white hair and two sideburns, and I didn't know that the lonely shadow was in tears.
Young man, the night is not young, where are the Yiren going, tears are coming.
Where did the Yiren return, tears flowed, and when they woke up from a dream, they knew that the white hair was snuggling.
Thousands of miles of tears hang in the cold moon sky, when will I return, the white hair is lovesick, and I will know right and wrong when I wake up from a dream.
If you want to fold a branch and send it to the distance, when will Dongjun return to his hometown, and the red note will write that the garden is full of begonias.
The spring is good, the sunset is red, where to go, and the sky is proud.
Ling Han is alone in the red in the snow, the spring is full of fragrance, not competing with Dongjun for beauty, and a branch obliquely out of the small building.
Last night, Dongjun showed off a hundred flowers alone, and the garden was full of spring and red and always loved.
The first branch, provoked acacia, who sent the small characters on red note, and the flowers fell all over the garden is always a poem.
The garden is full of spring and lovesickness, where is the red, thin, green and fat Dongjun going, and who is crazy.
Where is the home, a lone branch to the end of the world, the garden is full of spring and red is this flower.
Laughing at the spring breeze, not deceiving the red with Dongjun Shuang, overflowing the sky.
Jing Fanghua, the red reflects the colorful glow, and the most is Dongjun's solitary show to the end of the world.
Different red, if the autumn colors of the garden are known, the branches will be in the painting.
When Dongjun first bloomed last night, the garden was full of flowers, and the two were suitable.
A lone branch opens to the sun, living up to the tailoring of Dongjun, thousands of purples and thousands of red springs, and the fragrance of the garden is refreshing.
The flowers in the garden bloom late, the green, fat, red and thin know each other, and they don't understand the spring breeze, and it is a lone branch.
Spring is late, just in time, know people's intentions, the first branch of plum blossoms.
Jun sent warmth back, Xiu Xiangyang opened, couldn't close it, and thousands of purples and thousands of reds came into his eyes.
Fold a branch to send people far away, not on a blind date, the fragrance is still there, and the garden is left to see the truth.
The peony flowers are full of fragrant fragrance, and the most is that Dongjun knows my intentions, and he is smiling in the cold winter.
Dongjun is incomprehensible, a lone branch is fragrant, and there is no intention to appreciate the spring, only the residual red into the dream.
It is the first branch of the autumn breeze again, just at the right time, the red, blue and purple are as good, and the spring is full of poetry.
The garden is full of peaches and plums and spring breeze, thousands of purples and thousands of reds are different, and I want to ask where Dongjun is going, and he is in a small building.
Each has its own posture, and the spring garden is the most amorous species, and the first branch of flowers.
Smiling and proud of Dongjun to welcome the rising sun, a hundred flowers bloom, the garden is full of spring can not be closed, and thousands of purples and thousands of reds enter the eyes.
Show off alone in the mud, do not fight with Dongjun, and wait until autumn is red like fire, and the fragrance is in the sky.
When a dream returns, the moon is bright like a water goose flying south, knowing where, only the autumn clouds are full of guest clothes.
After the chrysanthemum blooms, it is scattered all over the ground, and the blowing is inexhaustible, and the silent cold moon shines on the railing.
To the end of the world, the bleak west wind drifts away with the passing water, a small farmer.
The bleak autumn wind sends the geese away, the cold cicada breaks the willow silk and grows, the yellow leaves of the mountain are flowing with the water, and only the chrysanthemums are extraordinarily fragrant.
People don't return, chrysanthemums bloom in the sound of autumn, and dreams are lost in the bleak wind.
The ground is full of incense, the yellow leaves are falling in the autumn breeze, the frost and snow are falling in the cold winter, and there are two lines of tears in the voice.
There is no bleak and noisy city in front of it, and the yellow leaves are still smiling with the wind.
In another year, the autumn wind rises in the sound of chrysanthemums blooming, and the moon is full.
Open on the small fence, the yellow leaves fall in my house with the wind, the autumn light is infinitely good, and a few geese cry across the world.
Silent fall for nine days, cold smoke, the mountains are full of yellow leaves with flowing water, chrysanthemums everywhere with rhododendrons.
The night is not young, the sound is desolate, and the yellow leaves are scattered and withered all over the ground.
The yellow leaves are full of autumn city, the chrysanthemum under the fence is shocking to dream, and a curtain of bleak moon is clear.
The chrysanthemums are thick in autumn, the yellow leaves dance in the west wind, and the cicadas sing the evening sound somewhere.
In the sound of wind and rain, the clouds are falling, and the yellow leaf chrysanthemum knows who it is in autumn.
The night is sleepless, intermittently disturbing the heartstrings, and the yellow leaves follow the flowing water, accompanied by the full moon.
The yellow leaves are falling, alone, and the geese are silently groaning to whom.
The chrysanthemums withered and the autumn wind passed, the hillsides were all over, the cold winter was fearless, and the laughter and laughter were clear.
The sound of autumn is in the ears, the cicadas are contending, the west wind is blowing red, and the yellow leaves are scattered and blooming proudly.
A few sorrows, the water is artesian, where to go, open at the small bridge.
The mountains are full of yellow leaves and autumn will end, the fragrance of chrysanthemums everywhere is strong, the geese cry in the hometown, and the west wind is bleak and winter.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art