And the setting suns of winter
Melancholy youthful young me
Used to think so ignorantly
The windmill in the song of the cycle of the seasons
It flows every day
In the verse of the winds of flowers and the snow of moonlight
I grow up year after year< /p>
The flowing water it takes away the story of time
Changes a person ......"
Every time in the cell phone to put Luo Dayou this song "the story of time", always back and forth to listen to a few times, like his not wonderful but full of the vicissitudes of the voice, like the lyrics, listen to the ears, always in the heart of the heart to cause **** song. The first thing I'd like to do is to get a good look at the words "time" and read them, and there is a kind of still water deep and slow lingering between the lips and teeth, and there is often a sense of the old and the old jumped to my mind.
From dawn to dusk, from green silk to white head, time and time in the fingertips, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, sometimes as brilliant as the evening sunshine, sometimes like the moonlight as quiet. I don't know, our youth in Luo Dayou's song gradually far away, suddenly surprised to realize that they have long been no longer young.
Looking back to the past, there are wind and rain, but also clear.
The joys of life, pain, peace, accompanied by ups and downs, all the way down, wind and rain.
The stars are shifting and the time is running out. From the morning birdsong to the sunset, spring flowers, autumn and moon, summer rain, winter snow, quietly watching the bustling city traffic, see all the quiet garden grass and trees, none of them is the story of time, a stroke of poetry, a shadow of a movement are like a painting, stained with fireworks, a circle of dense open, and then noiselessly and quietly gone.
"In that sentimental and first
waiting youth
yellow photos old letters
and faded Christmas cards
young for you to write a song
I'm afraid you have long since forgotten it
the past vow
just like the colorful bookmarks in the textbooks
the past vow
like the colorful bookmarks in the textbooks.
How many beautiful poems were engraved on the bookmarks
But in the end, it's just a puff of smoke
The flowing water carries away the stories of time
Changing the two people ......"
Time is like tea, in the polishing of the years, slowly become mellow and rich. Youthfulness and tenderness, quietly faded.
Time and light as a book, in the years of time gradually thick. The state of mind, but also in the prosperity and despair, gradually calm.
Light as a flower, in the cycle of seasons, blooming their own fragrance. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and you'll be able to do that.
Light as Zen, every step is a practice. Walked through the sun, moon and stars, traveled through the time stream, all everything, ultimately calm, not shocked, fall down happy.
Life, this is a practice. Even if it is short, it will dance with the wind, and cherish the simple daily life in this time, which is the story of the time.
Sundown building head, the moon rose, day after day, no matter how you sigh, time and light are slowly flowing, like a mountain stream, like the clouds rise and fall, safe and yet persistent, it quietly come, and carry each other through time, accompanied by the wind and rain. And what can we change? I think: since we can not extend the length of life, can not retain the time, then we will wait in the time of the ferry, sit on the light boat of the years, downstream, enjoy the scenery along the way, spring has hundreds of flowers in the fall, there is a moon in the summer, there is a cool breeze in the winter and snow, quietly enjoy the beauty of life it!
"In that sentimental and first
tearful youth
distant journey yesterday's dream
and far away laughter
again to meet
how many journeys have we gone through
no longer familiar with the old me
with the old wild dream Frenzied dreams
Nor are you the same as in the old days
With a smile that is still there
The current takes away the story of time
Changing us
Just at that sentimental and first
Memories of youth ......"
One day, we will all be the deceased of time, and no one can be spared. So, this short life, just try to bloom through.
Take your dream as a seed and plant it deep inside your heart, no need to publicize it. The day when you are watering it silently and waiting for it to blossom and bear fruits.
The time is not old, Shaohua in.