Jiangnan in front of me, is a poem? Is the painting? Is it a lady in the boudoir? It is a small family? Small bridges and flowing water is your tenderness, the avenue highway is your bones. A wide road, Jiangnan delineated into a huge square book - a masterpiece carefully written by farmers.
A straight road is an infinitely prolonged pentatonic score, and all kinds of vehicles are a jumping note, playing a celebratory and powerful song. Flowing with joy, rolling with passion, singing a fiery red, saying prosperity ......
Jiangnan's song - idyllic song plus disco!
Hoping for snow
Hoping for snow is hoping for you.
Snow is rare in the south. On cloudy days, who stands as
a tree, high on a hillock, waiting alone for the colorfulness of winter.
The wind spreads beautiful lies in the cold rain, and the snow is rejected by the lintel of the season. Each thin
frost, always reads as the thin back of your dreams.
Snow is still slow to fall, the heart is as empty as the wailing of birds.
A tree that has lost all its leaves, its pale appearance, makes the whole season lonely and masterless.
Snow falls in Jiangnan
Like a flock of panic-stricken birds, white feathers fluttering down with the wind,
Hearts fluttering in the wilderness, unable to utter a single groan.
Snow falls in Jiangnan. Many of the pains that are engraved in your heart do not come from the cold, when your gaze towers into a
glacier, the fluttering thoughts block all the way back.
It's the birds that fly north and south that bring me the spring floods that quietly return,
Snowflakes melted down in the shape of my tears.
Beautiful songs in the snow
Beautiful songs in the snow
These marvelous notes come from the faraway
Heaven, and they fall all over the season's tips overnight.
Everything plays the symphony of the earth silently, singing in unison for the coming spring.
The embryonic spring tide under the snow.
I am not an audience in front of the stage. My mind joins in the dancing and singing,
and the flurry never ends.
Watch the children play in the snow
At this moment, the earth is like a kind mother. Love stretches wider than the seasons,
Let the children's footprints to the fullest in the snow to write the happiness and joy of childhood.
Pile up snowmen. Throw snowballs. Snowball fights. Children's pure gaze and laughter, smoothing out the wrinkles of the soul.
A snowman piled high caught my attention, and I suddenly felt that the snowman was myself,
soon melting into the sunny world of the children.
Falling snow is silent
Falling snow is silent.
A group of snow-playing children woke up a sound sleep, and the snowy light reflected the morning.
Is it the freedom and joy that fills the heavens, that shakes the earth slightly, or is it my heart,
that yearns to fly as freely as the snow.
I saw the earth holding out its holy heart, still looking incredibly calm in the face of cheering children.
Walking into the snow
Walking into the snow, do I become old or young.
If I am becoming senile, why is my heart as light as flying snow, and the fire of fairy tales burning in my eyes.
If I am becoming young, why are my temples graying,
thinking as colorful as fallen flowers.