Rain at dusk. One.
The north wind comes and goes, and the clouds are idle, and the eyes are across the mountains at the end of the world.
The rain line silently pierced through the lonely courtyard, wrapped into a chill between the eyebrows.
Two. The rain entered the windowsill and the old case was shocked, and some of the words were full of affection.
If it weren't for the solemn traces of time, I couldn't understand that there was a little sound.
Three. The north wind gradually tightened and became cold, and the frost flowers entered the beginning.
A little bit of rain on the clouds and secretly hit the heart and liver.
Four. The clothes are cold to sigh now, and they are looking for the end of the world.
Wisps of gentle rain by the window, but like a stubborn thorn in the heart for a long time.
Bu operator] is not old in the green mountains, blooming and falling in the mountain flowers. A little pine wind came to the ears, fading to the smell of red dust.
Borrowed the moonlight is clear, and the water is full of leisurely water. The stream meanders often float on the stones, inviting idle clouds to get drunk.
Fish against the current. Only Du Kang can solve his worries, and the long sky is alone against the dark clouds.
The life is still like this, and I also learn from the fish to go against the current.
Play. One. Stir the wind and clouds to pluck the smoke, and the past is lingering.
Now my heart is sad and happy, and the piano is nothing more than a turn of the strings.
Two. The old art is barren and now picked up, and there used to be dreams that are unpredictable.
The sound of jade falling in the wind is like a thousand times of rehearsals.
Three. After years of practice, how to get on stage, the piano body is gray everywhere.
An old song has not yet been finished, but silent tears have been stolen.
Four. And this year, I am also obsessed, and I am not too late to get drunk on the scale.
Or there was once a bright moon, and the feelings fell at that time.
Winter morning. One. The sky has not clarified the bird's mania forest, and the branches of the jade dew are poured to whom.
The north wind swirled around the curtains, and the two windows were cold.
Two. The dream is short and the night is long, and the morning light jumps on the windowsill.
The breeze wants to stir the folds between the eyebrows, and the residual smile should not be removed.
Three. A few turns of the path, the morning breeze stepped on a new look.
This life is just like walking the way, even if there are traces, there is no desire to return.
Four. Looking at the mountains and rivers as makeup, flying sideburns are the wind chief.
The morning sun is like painting a cake, guiding me to the distance.
The WeChat avatar of ten years has changed.
There has been no trace of the wind and clouds for ten years, and a sentence ** is lazy to save.
And let the worries be far away today, and I don't relive the fire in my heart.
About the Author. 
Xu Shengdai (pen name: Tianya Guke), Han nationality, native of Beiqi Town, Yangdong District, Yangjiang City, Guangdong, president of Lingxi Poetry Society, and editorial board member of "Huazhou Poetry Garden". His works were selected for "Pastoral", "Poetry is the Most Beautiful Struggler Song", and "Shanghai Poetry Leaves". Since childhood, he has been fond of literature, music, calligraphy and painting, and chess, especially classical Chinese poetry.