The dream of the world of mortals, the shadow of the blue lamp and the moon shadow dispel the wind and rain, and the poetic life is a little sad. The shadow on the blue boat is thin, leaning against the railing, falling flowers and tears. Moonlight is like water and stars are like eyes. The silvery moonlight is full of cold leaves, and a pool of frustration is stained with ink. The weather is getting thicker and colder, and residual flowers are piled all over the floor. I don't know where I came from! Write down a sad paragraph. Send a ray of sadness. Whose sorrow have you touched?
The full moon, troubles, Qian Qian's voice. Hazy handwriting, yellowed epic, rubbings of pages, Yuanqu of Han Fu, winding roofs, Tang poetry and Song poetry, all of which are integrated into Sanqiu. The end of the time buried the painful wound and turned into a scattered sadness. A beautiful woman tears her intestines. The lips are crimson, the rain touches the phoenix tree, the eyebrows are wet with tears, the carmine is red, the green rhyme becomes a butterfly, the porcelain is crisp, and the blue and white flowers are scattered. The whole world is beautiful, and a song of acacia is played.
Flower shadows are melancholy, sake invites dreams to drink; Clouds hang down on the cold moon, ink and jade beads drop water, the sun has gone, pink tears are raining, pen and ink are blue, and beauty falls into a peach blossom dream, but it is always empty. I only want to admire Yuanyang, but I don't envy immortals. The flowers are falling, the picture is faint, the dew can't be collected, and only fireworks are left to sing old dreams. Plum blossoms are in full bloom in the yard, birds fall on the branches to listen to the broken rain, and mottled stars are fascinated by Kazuki Watanabe musician Mo, who monopolize the enchanting violin.
Thoughts, dust, dreams and dances, worries, breezes, butterflies flying. Tea adds fragrance, singing partner. Looking forward to the world, sending love to the distance. I hope to spend a lot of time, but I feel lonely. Who is the heart for? Lonely lamp and thin shadow, who is love? A mood and a glass of sake. Eyes full of haggard, heart full of sadness. The porch window is dark and the moon shadow is fragrant.
The veil is swaying, the red leaves are peeling off, and I love to become a butterfly. I complain that the sunset is late and the song ends, only the sad people know. Beauty looks in the mirror and tears flow thousands of lines. Water flows in the shadow of the moon, for whom. I asked you how to get drunk until the waning moon climbed into the canyon early. I asked who the shadow in the mirror was red and who the waning moon blushed for in the water. It is no longer as clear as moonlight, and the tenderness between fingers still exists, but the fleeting time between fingers has been stepped on in a green fairy tale.
Xiaofeng dispelled the waning moon, shook her fingers, and the beauty shed tears. Heroes are heartbroken, smiling, resisting thousands of glitz and drowning three thousand. I only took a ladle, whose hand bounced off the wind and frost on my armor, whose ambition brought disaster to my world, and whose sword cut off ten thousand sections of elegance. Concentrate all my thoughts and put them in front of the Buddha who converted in the afterlife, waiting for the shallow fate for you. Midnight is quiet, sighing and blowing.
Delicate and soft, take a few handfuls of fine water. A farewell song will break the string and funeral music will be played. After a lonely night. Clear ink and full pen readings remain unchanged. Wet red hate ink shallow seal topic, want to solve tears. Turn your heart to the wind and write down your inner thoughts. Gaunt and damaged, how much prosperity and red buttons, Iraqis are getting thinner and thinner. The crescent moon shines on the west wing like a hook, so the pillow is sleepless and the night is cold. There are thousands of lanterns, and there is no chance of lovesickness. If you are obsessed with words, don't be ashamed of being young.
Full moon flowers, swaying wind, a cold moon lamp, yellow leaves flying, drunk and dreaming, red cinnabar tears, moon condensation rain, dusty wind, heart flowers, cold flowers and autumn millet, no three-inch eyes, alone in the West Building, in the starlight, it is difficult to warm the face, it is difficult to be alone, frost and snow, beauty fu, peach blossom wine, pear flower dew. Harp, harp, Qian Shan, graceful and restrained flower shadow.
The night staggered, scattering mottled and broken shadows. The wind passed through the window, with a hint of coolness, and brushed a strand of long hair. A little mist and dew fluttered away. Moon cycle, like a dream, lightly stepping on Leng Yan for half a month, leading a totally clean life, walking lightly with his hands on his back, and sitting in front of the mirror tired of dressing. Plain and warm, thin and indifferent, cutting a monologue that is constantly confusing. Golden times, let me be warm and beautiful.
Bead curtain blowing, water lilies, purple dust, rouge tears. Face-lifting, fat poetry, a piano, singing in the spring, full of poetry fragrance, dripping like dew, if the water is 3 thousand, just take a spoonful of water, gently holding a poem, clear jade inkstone, lonely snow shadow, peach blossom capacity, chilling window, addicted to agarwood, Qin Qing is completely drunk.
Singing drizzle, purple smoke curled up, dancing under the moon and getting drunk with the breeze. With a smile, light and elegant, water leisurely. The world of mortals is like a dream, stepping on the folds of the years and stepping on the poems that have been popular for thousands of years. A drop of tears, like yesterday, lingered at the ferry for thousands of years, and the flowers bloomed, the peach blossoms were unfamiliar, Ying Ying was speechless, and the flowers fell with people. Green dew in hand, light sleeves in white, walking alone in the valley, if the water condenses, you can know friends far away.
When still water moves, the rainbow is hazy and the wind is hazy. Light smoke leads swallows through the clouds. Before the color screen blooms, you are not drunk with the breeze, and the grass is comfortable with the jade. Building in the depths of Suzuki, larks sing clearly. The dew is crystal clear, the rainforest is fragrant, the steps are light, and the dream tea is swaying. Colorful butterflies love flowers, fragrant and intoxicating. The sunset is red, and the breeze calms the west. Xiao Xiaomudi, a quiet dream drunk in front of the rain, has a satisfying fragrance.
It refers to twisting ancient scrolls, and the book is lingering. The tree in front of the window is more graceful than the snow. Wearing a plain clothes, if the willow blows, it is a pure heart to sing about China and India in the south of the Yangtze River. Holding a jade wool in hand, I painted my heart in ink, drew a bridge next to the railing, touched a touch of autumn mourning, and stepped on the ink-scented words, leaving only a thin shadow in the misty rain, and the small building went to the spring breeze overnight. The moonlight is raining, and the poetic life is a bit sad.
Clouds are flowing, misty rain is in the distance, and dust is flying in the air. One sleeve is elegant and thin, and the sky is slightly shallow. I am intoxicated with a lot of mysterious pen and ink, fragrant words in poems, and the shallow strokes of the Phantom of the Opera. Suddenly, a poem turned into a poem, and the purple stranger was born, with a bit of elegance and bitterness. A book of ink marks, half a volume of clear words, lotus full of grace, butterfly dance. Crystal heart, delicate as silk, flowers bloom all over the sky, misty rain sounds years. Sip and talk in a dream; Drunk, buy drunken dancing and clear the shadow fence; Falling into the water of Gui Lian, one foot is fragrant; Boating on a green screen, a poem depicts Fan Ming.
Moonlight is warm, whose green slate flows. The rain is endless, and acacia becomes a lamp. Don't say that reunion is fate, it will be difficult to say goodbye. Just wait, the autumn rain is sad, the night wind is quiet, the residual red is all over the ground, the strings are unintentionally twisted, and the moon shadow is clear. Leaning against the window and listening to the rain, I can't smell the flute of Jun Tianya, and the bright moon building is lonely, and the wine into my heart turns into homesick tears.