Broken intestines, return to hometown, withered green trees, red leaves all over the mountain dyed autumn frost.
The song sings mountain songs, the river is full of blue waves, the blowing is endless, and the autumn is full of fruits.
Last night, the west wind blew down the flowers, the sky was full of blood, red as blood, and it was suspected that the rose pickers had arrived home.
Autumn to the south of the Yangtze River leaves all over the world, the rose pickers go to the empty mountains and lonely, only the sunset shines on the sunset.
Yang and grass and trees are Rong, and the people who pick the rose are walking in the painting, not understanding the meaning of the wanderer, and sending the autumn sound to Jiangcheng.
Mulberry hemp is planted under the Caiwei Mountain, reflecting the sunset, the west wind blows the leaves, and the autumn dew moistens the yellow flowers today.
One night, the west wind is all over the yellow ground, everything changes new makeup in autumn, the delicate sun is like fire maple forest dyeing, and the chrysanthemum fragrance is appreciated in the south mountain.
When I came to my house, the west wind and deciduous people were in the depths of the clouds, and the sun watched the sunset.
A bright moon shines on the new sun, return to the hometown, last night the west wind blew the leaves, and now the autumn dew dyes the clothes.
Where to find the peach source, a touch of the sun falls on the distant mountains, last night the west wind blew to wake up from a dream, still laughing at the world.
Send cool, full of autumn chrysanthemum is yellow, infinitely good, and the people who pick roses are in the water**.
The autumn cold is not afraid of the west wind and everything is withering, people have gone, and the slanting sun is still burning in the sky.
According to the small window, the people of Caiwei are puzzled and fall asleep.
Do not compete with the group of flowers to pick roses, the white snow in spring is accompanied by red plums, the west wind is frosty overnight, and the fragrance comes back from autumn to winter.
Chrysanthemum yellow, autumn to winter, the sun is red like fire, and the people who pick roses are in the water**.
The chrysanthemum is yellow, the west wind is frosty all over the place overnight, picking the wild fun in the South Mountain, and strolling in the sunset.
The red leaves inscribed poem drunk Chongyang, the west wind slanting the sun and the acacia for thousands of miles.
Wipe the west building, the reclining column yellow flowers are empty and lonely, and they are in vain.
The long sky geese are oblique, the sunset is dyed with clouds, not dissociated, and the red leaves are falling on my house.
Yellow flowers have a thousand tears, all kinds of sorrow, where does the sunset go, and the oblique moon shines on the small building.
Come into a dream, open for whom, the sunset obliquely shines on the afterglow of my arms.
A touch of the fence, the path is deep and the yellow flowers are vibrant, and the mountains are full of red leaves.
The west wind crosses the small bridge, a touch of willow silk shakes, and the yellow flowers float all over the ground with the waves.
Yellow flowers are all over the mountains and reflect the colorful glow, and a touch of sunset sends the cool sun to the west.
The wind is soothing, falling into the water far away, obliquely shining back to the Hongying, crossing the small bridge.
A touch of light smoke clouds, like old people, last night the yellow flowers and red leaves fell colorful.
The slanting sun and the west wind are ancient and the trees are yin, the dyed forest, the ground is unattended, and the red leaves are all over the mountain.
The yellow flowers all over the ground reflect the sunset, the red leaves on the mountains are better than the spring flowers, and the sunset is oblique with a touch of geese in the sky.
Red leaf trees, white clouds, west wind, the remnants of the sun reflect nine days.
Danxia reflects the sky, the oblique sun hangs in the blue sky, the yellow flowers are spread all over the place, and the red leaves are dancing exquisitely all over the mountain.
The sunset shines obliquely, and the afterglow reflects the blue sky, and the yellow flowers and red leaves dance exquisitely everywhere.
Autumn is lonely, the dance is enchanting, the sunset hangs on the horizon, and the afterglow is extraordinarily delicate.
The red leaves inscribe poems recall the old years, the yellow flowers obliquely shine the wine back to the Hongying, and a touch of autumn wind sends the passenger ship.
Reflecting the blue sky, oblique flying swallows cut the spring breeze, and yellow flowers are full of poems into dreams.
Shine on the evening bell, and the glow is all over the wind and smiles, with dew.
The edge of the fence is dewed, the Danfeng Ridge is frosty, and there is a lingering fragrance of the sunset and the oblique moon.
The water flows artesianly, the yellow flowers fall obliquely and return to the Hongying, and the light reflects the small building.
A touch of the remnant sun and the oblique moon hang in the western sky, not dissociating from people's minds, and the wanderer is cold.
When the shadow is sparse and oblique on the moon, the fragrance is a touch of obsession, the yellow flowers are incomprehensible, and the red leaves are lonely words.
The red leaves are dancing, the yellow flowers are fragrant all over the sky, the people in the west are not visible, and the smoke is wiped into the clouds.
Covering the blue sky, covering the front of the village, inviting the bright moon, drunk and lying in the sunset dream.
Li is the head, the mother is ashamed, outside the window, a wisp of cooking smoke is left for you.
Half a bead curtain into the cuiwei, colorful clouds fly, yellow flowers thin, a wisp of smoke to accompany the guests.
Whose house is the bamboo cover firewood, peach blossom rain in March in spring, half in the stream weeds budding.
The smoke enters the picture, the green mountains and green waters cover the thatched house, the old wine invites the bright moon, and a touch of the sun shines on the grass house.
A touch of the slanting sun reflects the sunset, drunk the world, can't hide it, the smoke is my home.
The sunset is half out of the moon in the west mountain, the remnant sun is like a blood-stained journey, the yellow sand covers the heroic bones, and a wisp of cooking smoke floats for thousands of miles.
The word goose flies, the smoke starts obliquely on the yellow flower thin, and the book enters the cuiwei.
A few wisps of smoke surround the house, by the stream, half a pot of old wine invites the bright moon, drunk and sleeps in the sun.
The autumn sun obliquely sideburns, half a pot of turbid wine drunk red dust, firewood does not hide after dusk, and the cooking smoke is accompanied by the moon ring.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art