Lying in a cold quilt at an oblique angle, the heavy clouds and dreams remain the same.
I'm tired of worrying about my temples all day. When will I stop thinking about it?
The tears are empty and the beads are condensed, and the seven strings tell a thousand worries.
It's sad to leave the geese and cry, and it's hard to even come to the brocade.
the wind and dew gradually change, the cold rain sprinkles the pavilion, and the flowers in the secluded path accumulate. Lonely sycamore leaves rustling. Between the branches, the tenderness of the past is hard to show. Who's home, worrying about the fence, frowning is difficult to show? Looking back, we are all alone, independent, together and apart, and there is no time. Why don't we cry, leaving people sad and heartbroken?
as far as the eye can see, the world is vast, with smoke all over the sky, misty cold fog and depression everywhere. Like this scenery, how can you endure Xiao Yan's eyes when you are sad?
Ying Ying stood silent and tearful, which caused many worries, gloom, gloom ...
At this moment, who gathered a curtain of misty rain and was worried about Iraq? Drunk in the world of mortals, who pity the flowers and flowers?
the loss of the lotus is scattered, the decline of the poplar is hidden, the lovesickness is hard to express, the brocade book is not sent, and the geese are broken. Sad to leave my arms, empty to hate the late return of the year. Thousands of miles away, facing each other in darkness. Wandering in the sky, thinking continuously, looking at the scenery forever at night, only looking at the horizon.
Huaxia Xuan in spring, Winter Snow in Qiu Feng, and of those tonight in the upper chambers and who toss and sigh and cannot rest. In the old days, the moonlight was sometimes round in the soul's dream, and it was chilly and rainy for years. It was always like last year when I counted the cold. How do you know when you are in another year, that you are far away from your heart, but you hate it, and who are you talking to?
Looking back on the past, I painted a picture of the sky, the flowers blossomed in the morning, the swallows wore willow ribbons, and the blue waves made me cry. On that day, Xiaoqiao occasionally met the monarch, and when he caught a glimpse, he was drunk for a thousand years. Red flies and flocs dye the sky, and pears are white and butterflies are fluttering. With you * * *, infatuated and lingering. Look at the willows from the fog before the flowers, and the moss holds a small fan in the secluded path. The flowers are full under the moon, and the plantain is idle, smiling and smiling, and xiao yue croons and moistens the pen. Gather leaves and splash them into thousands of dots of ink, and save flowers to dye a few marks. Pick up flowers and wear them in the morning, and hug each other at dusk. Whoever picks one, which is unique and beautiful, leans into the side of the clouds, envies the bees and butterflies, shames the flowers, cherishes the affection and gets drunk. Who has a soft lips, a long pavilion on an ancient road, and a drunken dance?
who knows, sometimes, flowers will bloom in a stranger, the moonlight will harvest, the wind will blow suddenly, and thewindow will be full of remnants of Britain. How can the good times last? Ten-mile pavilion, the storm suddenly broke out, saying goodbye, tears splashed all over the pool lotus, and I couldn't bear to break a plum branch to send it back to you. Only in the coming year: peach blossoms are speechless and willow leaves are idle, and I will return them another day!
Up to now, the fallen flowers are still there, the fragrance screen is empty, people don't know where they are, they are heartless to leave the people who hate them and go to the empty building, and they are lonely to sing farewell to the bridge, only to complain about the geese, but they can't fly ...
In front of the small building, it's lonely and cold, and suddenly I hear the sound of Iraqi people sighing, the residual lights shining empty, leaning against the window, looking for a gentleman, and my heart. Whoever turns over the bleak music of Yuefu, the wind is rustling, the rain is rustling, and the lamp is thin and another window is thin.
yellow flowers accumulate, leaves leave, and I miss you. When will the traveler return? Can you bathe in the wind in the Tang Dynasty, bathe in the rain in the Song Dynasty, write an old dream, and get together in the future, * * * Are you drunk?