The bamboo shadow is messy, the song is turning, people are good, flashy life, forgetting a season.
Spring light, drunken eyes
Cool moon like eyebrows, apricot blossom light cold, a warbler, a string of green, a finger of spring color, write a few sections of the long love, a few clutches, light old a period of time.
The current year, stained fingers
Floating life is not yet centered, the past drifting, a shadow mess, a ink light, drunk half a lifetime of the sea, forget a world of retrospective, a curtain of heart, slowly passing through the dream of the Qingzhan.
The past, wandering
A city of old things, thoughts of the indefinite, a city of deserted, a reed sail, folding a song of words, drink a cup of wine, a path of flowers, gently walk through the rain of the cool.
The fate of the earth, the end of the world
The long wind and cold moon, sparse rain and light smoke, a Nianci, a season of flowers, pull a wisp of wind, a sum of money, a low-eyebrow, shallow stained with a body of red dust.
Always thought that people with good feelings and state of mind, is the world's warmest scenery, like a song singing the old years, to the time to wear a flower hairpin, look at the mountain color curtains, flowers into the ink stone, the spring breeze words and strokes of cloud smoke.
In the smoldering red dust, I would like to be a guest of the breeze, running water Zen, to grass and trees into the poem, to the clouds and water knot words, peace and happiness, outside the dust free, spring breeze Qiqi, the eyebrows of the Qingxi.
The heart is like water, silence and peace, with the posture of the lotus calm, surplus a smile, will be polished into the life of the branch of the most beautiful scenery.
The sun and moon are silent, the water has no trace, with the wind's persistent search, convergence of a pocket of wind, the life will be brewed into the best years of the world dust.
How to meet, if there is not a compassionate navigation, even if the wind and waves, will eventually miss; how to miss, because of the mercy of the paddle, even if the wind and waves, will eventually meet.
How the light of day, if there is not a four seasons of euphoria, even if the flowers and the moon, but also ultimately failed; how to fail, because of the four seasons of the cycle, even if the world, but also ultimately can be reunited.
Like you, is a poem of the mold, spring breeze over the rain, smoke full of lake sky; wild path flowers Ming, streams and clouds, a word holding a word, out of a line of heartbeat; a word connected to a word, stepped through a lake of Qiongyao.
The far away, will be close, waiting for, no longer long, running water over the corridor of time, wade through the river of time, stepping on the fate of the different shades of grain, but not walk out of a mature years.
A person's life, there should always be a rain, stay at a certain time to read, pattering, dripping, wet, pure beauty.
A person's life, there should always be a paper ink, stay at a certain moment to read up, up and down, thick and light, will be written into a beautiful bleak, will be lonely dance as spring and autumn.
In each section of time in the palm prints, in each trekking, in the stars, to meet a better self.
As free as the wind, as lonely as the rain, as sparkling and bright as fireworks, as simple and warm as the spring sun.
Meet the wind, meet the clouds, meet the flowers, meet the rain, meet the cold moon, meet the frost and snow, meet the clear light, meet you, meet him, meet a better self.
Mountains and fields, you are the joy I hide in the spring breeze; the moon is full of colors, you are the loneliness I write in the shadow.
In the spring breeze, you are the tenderness I left behind on earth; in the cold and warmth of the morning and evening, you are my search in heaven and on earth.
You're the line of poetry in my years; you're the footnote to all my joys and despair; you're the romance in the starry sky, the melancholy in the drizzle, the gentleness brought by the spring breeze, and the hope of the willow's first green color.
The past years, all over the world, who is the reason for your despair, who is the excuse for you to drift, who is your dusty destiny has not yet been extinguished, who is your old time wind and moon.
Wish a rain, can wash away the world of annoyance; wish a river of tobacco, can dissolve the world of idle worry; wish a pot of wine, can wash away the years of dust.
Only in a flower, looking for the whole spring; penetrate a curtain of smoke and rain, you can see the whole poetic Jiangnan. The wind rises, the moon falls, the scenery is housed in the old love affair; years, flowers, the story is full of mottled sentiment.
The time is shallow, the years are peaceful, you are alone in the loneliness of the bloom of the Chinese years; eyebrows like the beginning, the love of the past, the bottom of the eyes of the fireworks, shallow ripples with your smile.
The most deep love is difficult to assign, who picks the lamp and plucks the string, who sings low and shallow, who loves each other in silence, who rejoices in silence.
The most is difficult to tell, who and the appendix shot all over, who and the slanting sun sitting off, who and the chapter of the Taiwan folding willow, who and the clear night heard the flute.
The most is the wind and moon is difficult to write, who and the story of the city, who and the Lianli flowers bloom, who and the Luo belt concentric, who and the peach blossom spring wind.
The most is the red dust is difficult to cross, and who gently pick up the years, and who beat the horse Jiangnan, and who fell in the rivers and lakes, and who is confused about the past.
If you see the flowers blooming, listening to the wind to be buried, I wish someone, promise you a world of joy, accompany you in the red dust and happiness.
If you want to see the flowers in bloom, you have to listen to the wind.