The Lost City. Autumn cicadas in dreams.
Once upon a time, foggy.
Endless pain, joy and sorrow.
The endless past wanders the people of the past.
Step into the empty old house, the heart.
Dead the dawn. Just to welcome another grand dusk.
The river of life is still breathing.
Guarding the joy of memory.
The obsession of not falling.
Thinking of old things, reflecting the old days of joyful gatherings.
Refuse to be vague, refuse to part.
People who refuse to grow old.
Lost into a monster that never gets old.
Let's sleep with tomorrow.
In another dream that doesn't wake up.
The Past with a Mask.
With the fragrance of the past
Cast together this endless.
The Lost City. Awaken.
Li Wei. Shiyouting Mountain.
Let me do it to me.
A poem about black snow that has been trampled into footprints on the snow.
Say a few words. I said, "I think."
Footprints precede a person's walking.
Walking alone.
Is. Gradually.
Wake them up. Flowering.
Sycamore trees. Clematis in the yard.
It was opened this spring.
In the summer it blooms again.
There are also pomegranate kumquat jasmine gold dew in bloom.
as well as water lilies. They pour out their fragrance again and again.
These kindnesses. My neighbors and I accepted it over and over again.
In the yard, the gourds also bloom and bear gourds.
The neighbor's fruit trees and vegetables are luxuriant.
My heart and face are also happy.
But pray for the New Year solstice.
Xu Heying. The white clouds crumbled the snow, and the plain shadow covered the cold smoke.
Qianmo returned to silence, and the city gate was noisy.
Tanmei is waiting, and the New Year's Eve dream is fulfilled.
But pray for the new spring solstice, and think of green sleep.