Words are endless, desolate tears are hard to collect on this night, such as asking each other, for the Tao tonight the moon is like a hook.
The sunset obliquely shines on the words and is drunk and asleep, where to send, there is no moon tonight and I am sad.
When I come to my house, there is no way to send the moonlight tonight, and I can't watch the sunset.
There is no need to have more wine tonight, there is no poetry to do tomorrow, the autumn wind blows the leaves overnight, who says that loneliness is a sad song.
I don't know if I am worried, the yellow flowers are blooming in the wind overnight, and the red leaves are falling on the branches tonight.
There is no good sentence on this night, why should he have good words in the year, and he should remember it tomorrow, before the drunken chrysanthemum.
Tomorrow climb the heights to get drunk and get drunk, and don't talk about the spring breeze in the world.
Wine talk is homely, tomorrow the autumn wind blows the leaves, and the poems are written.
Words and laughter are noisy, the morning flowers and evening are boundless, where to go tomorrow, only to see the full moon tonight.
After decades of sleep, I didn't dare to speak, tomorrow the spring breeze blows green and green, and the moonlight shines sleepless tonight.
When I arrived in Jiangcheng, the moonlight was clear, and I was lovesick for thousands of miles.
It is difficult to make dreams come true, tomorrow there is no chance for the autumn wind to blow the leaves, and a thousand words to send to whom.
Playing the strings in the morning and evening, there is no need to say that it is short, but I want the moon to be full tomorrow and tonight.
The spring breeze will not return tonight, and the lovesickness will be full of tears.
Singing the afterglow, the cooking smoke surrounds the cuiwei, the west sinks in the mountains at night, and the colorful clouds fly.
In March, the willow tops, the blue water flows, and a few wisps of cooking smoke and the flute are soft in the evening breeze.
The slanting sun reflects the red of the mountain, the sun is thick, the smoke is ethereal, and the pastoral flute rings in the forest.
A wisp of cooking smoke surrounds the top of the mountain, and the shepherd's flute melodiously enters the twilight sky, and the most is the sunset obliquely shining among the colorful clouds.
Past the farmhouse, around the sunset, obliquely illuminated, the bright moon on the sun cliff.
When will the slanting wind and drizzle stop, a touch of residual sun shines on the small building, where does the smoke go, and where does the melodious flute stay.
A few wisps of cooking smoke and flutes to the end of the world, the sunset in the west and the sunset on the green hills.
The sunset mountain, some people are still there, and after the sunset obliquely shines on the dusk, a ray of sunshine shines all over the sky.
A ray of sunshine shines on the waterfront, oblique flying swallows wrap around the farmhouse, and the shepherd's flute is melodious in spring.
Illuminating the colorful clouds, the autumn sun is like a fire reflecting the dusk, and the cooking smoke is melodious and intoxicating.
In the mountains and wilderness, the smoke of the cooking is oblique and the mulberry elm is late, sprinkled all over the sky.
The willows are like cotton, flying obliquely between the blue waters, and a few wisps of cooking smoke and flutes sound in the clouds.
Between the blue waves, the wind sends the autumn sun to the misty place, and the flute sings leisurely.
The smoke rises melodiously over the stream, and the autumn sun is infinitely good, dyed with red mud.
Listen to the sound of the shepherd's flute, a few wisps of cooking smoke around the trees, the slanting sun sinks in the west and the mountains are late, and a bright moon is accompanied by the sun.
Unable to shine on the sky, the oblique shadow vaguely resembles the old man, and the smoke is misty, whose shepherd flute sends dusk.
The willow silk leads, the yang bird is happy, the village house is around, and the shepherd flute sings a good year.
The smoke surrounds my house, the flute reaches the end of the world, and I return late, full of green mountains and sunset.
The melodious shepherd flute is drunk at the end of the world, around thousands of homes, and the birds are tired, and the remnant sun is like blood staining the red glow.
In the spring of March, the breeze is soft, and a few wisps of cooking smoke are ethereal, and the flute of the family surrounds the mountain.
The twilight is deep in the west, the remnant sun is like a blood-stained dusk, a few wisps go with the wind, and another village is in the sound of the shepherd's flute.
The place where the smoke starts is the farmhouse, singing the sunset, the most autumn sun is infinitely good, and the golden wind sends the cool sun to the west.
The sound of birds has been far away in the green mountains, the twilight clouds rise from the smoke in several places, a touch of the slanting sun is red like fire, and the sunset is dyed in Wanjia Village.
Mu Xiahui, a touch of slanting sun cooking smoke around the village, birds and trees flying.
The slanting sun hangs on the branches, reflecting the small building, a few wisps of cooking smoke surround the village house, and the woods are secluded with a few birds.
Winding around the small village lonely, birds singing and frogs singing into the picture, the sunset afterglow is red like fire, a touch of light on the flat lake.
Spring is about to return, the smoke starts at dusk, and outside the green mountains, a few wisps of light breeze send the sunset.
The east wind is weak and the sun shines on the cuiwei, and the village rises, and several birds fly among the trees.
Reflecting the sunset, the sunset rises around the head of the village, and the trees are uproaring.
A few wisps of cooking smoke surround my house, the bird's cry breaks the sunset slope, and the evening returns in the shadow of the sunset, and a touch of red clouds is like a colorful glow.
Under the high complex, the smoke of the cooking house is as red as fire, and the afterglow of the sunset is like a painting.
A touch of the morning sun, the afterglow of the sunset dyes the river, a few wisps of cooking smoke drift, and the birds sing a long rhyme.
The years of Shu Bird Guanshan are ruthless, and the sunset is very clear.
The clouds are flying, the sunset is surrounded by smoke and the trees are returning.
The smoke rises in the west, the birds return to their nests and the sunset is round, the sky is vast and bright, and the red glow hangs on the horizon.
The fish leaps into the crystal palace, the blue sky, a touch of the slanting sun and mountains, and the half moon is in the sunset.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art