Slanting wind and rain do not have to return to the fireworks in March, borrowing ten miles of spring wind, standing cardamom tips, rolled the curtain, alone on the boat, holding the pen for the Penny, hold up the paper for the ferry, visit the old neon, looking for the old dream of Jiangnan.
Jiangnan is like a graceful and charming elegant woman, from the prosperity of the six dynasties to come, in the exquisite lakeside water and live. The grass is blue, the willow strand contains smoke, Jiangnan is a delicate and elegant words, Zhongling Yuxiu bones, style and flavor, was a thousand years of wind, ten thousand years of rain, brewed into a drunken daughter of the red, slightly intoxicated by the years, stained with the red dust, haze the eyes.
Self-existing flowers are as light as a dream, and boundless rain is as fine as sorrow. Rainy Jiangnan, like smoke like fog, like a dream, with a faint sadness, containing a slight sorrow, gently and gently weave around the fingers of the three points of tenderness, entangled in the heart of a curtain dream.
Jiangnan outstretched delicate hand, diffuse caressing the heartstrings, clothes dancing at the tenderness of the water, fondness, such as poetry. The wind here will become a lingering sentiment, firmly sticking to the thoughts of the passers-by; rain here will be strung together into a silver line, and depend on us to trip in the world. Thick ancient meaning, light sadness, Jiangnan in the dashing rain and smoke, stands into a classical melancholy.
The apricot blossom rain, blowing the face of the willow wind, the delicate euphemism of Jiangnan played to the extreme, wutong more and fine rain, to dusk drizzle, a Ren steps, dripping to the daybreak. That wispy rain, clearly is the tears of the departed; that rain flying red, clearly is the overturning of the rouge.
The light dance of the curling rain, lilac knot with sadness, pattering in the ear playing a song of sentimental faraway ancient Acacia song, the melody, such as sobbing, will be those who cut, still messed up the confused thoughts from the memory of the remnants of the dream awakened, a river of tobacco, full of flotsam, disturbed the spring sadness, shaking down the heart, so that the lonely pedestrians can not bear to lean on the fence alone.
Lift up the dense tears, looking away from the bridge that seems to be broken, vaguely, as if, snow white, was Xu Xian broke through the heart of the White Lady is still singing quietly: "West Lake landscape is still the same, haggard and difficult to full of autumn eyes. The maple leaves on the mountain side are as red as dye, and I can't look back and remember my old travels. The broken bridge is not yet broken, my intestines are broken, a piece of deep love to the east flow." This sad sigh of people must be unable to forget the day in the breeze and rain hand in hand with the beautiful scenery, right? Wind and rain with the ferry, spring like embroidery time, that a oil-paper umbrella had interpreted how much romance, contains how much deep love? The soft wind, dense rain, love, have become today's look back at the sadness of the bitter past. The landscape of West Lake is still the same, only, will her Xu Lang come back again?
Listening to the distant sound of the bells, and pondering the fragrance of a petal in the misty rain. Because of the lover's abandonment, that once smilingly recited aloud: "Concubine rode the oil-walled car, Lang rode the buckskin horse; where to tie the same heart? Under the pine and cypress in the west." The talented girl Su Xiao Xiao has long been transformed into a wisp of fragrance that will not be dispersed for a thousand years, leaving behind a thousand years of sadness at the Xileng Bridge. Although the evening bell of Nanping, loyal accompaniment to her lonely soul. But the wind and the moon, where to find that once "stripped coil as a silver ring, rolled leaves blown for the sound of jade flute" of the shallow singing of the woman's silhouette? The sky and the rain, can not wash away the lively and intelligent woman full of sadness and uncertainty?
The woman who coats the yarn by the stream, the woman who turns butterflies into wings, the woman who picks lotuses in the river, the woman who sings about the wind and the moon, the woman who dances in ink, the woman who sings on the zither, the woman who pins an alabaster orchid on her lapel, the woman who reads about searching for a cold and quiet woman, are all the women of the south of the Yangtze River. They are daughters of water, they are flowery daughters, Jiangnan rain and smoke because of their existence and extraordinarily lingering, Jiangnan rain and smoke to make their lives more plentiful and moist. Misty rain is their tears, light mist is their sorrow, their light knit coquettish smile, their sadness and joy, their past lives, their love and hate, is the misty rain in the eternal ageless legend, they are the dream of Jiangnan. The flower of their love, in the embrace of Jiangnan rain and smoke in full bloom. Their sighs, their grievances, their despondency, so that the Jiangnan rain and smoke more disorienting, more poignant.
Being a woman of Jiangnan, I am in the pink walls and tiles, deep alleys of Jiangnan, in the apricot blossom spring rain, the warbler grass long Jiangnan, in the hazy Jiangnan rain and smoke in pursuit of the Jiangnan women as misty as rain, as fresh and enchanting as the apricot blossom dream. The dream is like Jiangnan, like a poem, like a picture; the dream is like Jiangnan, also true and fantasy; the dream is like Jiangnan, like a shadow; the dream is like Jiangnan, intoxicated for a lifetime ......
Dreaming of Jiangnan drunkenness
Starry night sky
Smoke rain and love constantly
Laughing at peach blossom love Wing Chun
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