The moonlight shines on the courtyard, and the red candle is faint. The world of mortals has been around for more than a thousand years. A woman dressed in white is holding a roll of Gu Mo, and her sleeves are full of fragrance. She is stepping on the long and short lines of flat and graceful, and slowly stepping into all kinds of Song Ci.
1. First meeting
Apricot was born. Unfamiliar
when the east wind comes, a peach blossom will be picked and its splendor will be scorched. A colorful butterfly, dancing around the flowers.
The white dress is floating, the red is concentric, and the flowers are madly in love with butterflies. The vines are entangled and entangled in the hearts of their daughters. The onion refers to the fiddle, and a song of thoughts flows between heaven and earth.
You, wearing a blue shirt, have come from the depths of the world of mortals, looking for the pink between the green buildings and the purple fields. Where is this beautiful woman? Whose Chanjuan is this? If the eyebrows are far away, the plain face is like a lotus, and the mountains and rivers are picturesque. Looking at each other, you are like water in your eyes, overflowing with all kinds of tenderness; I bowed my head, with a touch of shyness, blushed apricot cheeks and peach faces, and blushed Jiangnan.
"Under the flowers in the south of Dongcheng, you meet the right person." You whisper the words that leave a fragrance on your lips and teeth, and you wrinkle them, which is a pool of longing for love. Love thread is like straw, once blown, it will be born.
The sky is blue, the water is clear and the flowers are fragrant. Gentle as water, love is better than wine, and you are drunk.
The piano is light, the instrument is clear, and * * * has the same score, which makes a gorgeous picture of meeting and enjoying each other.
can the love between wheatgrass and butterfly dance stand the fleeting time?
2. Parting
Leave the autumn in the cold. Yang Liuan.
Ten-mile-long dike, with lights stretching and songs flying with the oars. Not far away, Lanzhou urged.
cloud temples, flower faces, and a white dress blowing in the wind. Holding hands with you, tears filled my eyes. Eyes entangled, choked, speechless.
The water is covered every other day, and the green Ruyan Liu is in the middle, and the curtain is as happy as yesterday. Broken shadows are mottled. I remember that you brushed your pen with a touch of shyness and lightly touched my red makeup; I used to remember that between the colorful notes, the court was full of fragrance with words, and * * * sang the swan song of flowers and butterflies.
nowadays, the breeze is fading and the moon is fading, and a song is leaving Wan Li in its heyday.
in the misty rain, butterflies wet their wings and weak flowers fall.
The parting song played by Jiaofang and the low throat of Qinhuai River after the joy became a sad freehand brushwork in the broken chapters of withered bamboo slips.
A thousand miles of smoke, the twilight is heavy. When you are drifting away, all your thoughts are lingering in the boundless wind and moon. Even if there is a drizzle in the south of the Yangtze River, even if there is a fragrance on both sides of Qinhuai River, even if there are thousands of customs, who can you tell? There are only long and short words that are provocative, and the sparse rain knocks on the window. Flying flowers are like a dream, and the rain is endless. The sad watch rises and falls on the misty lake, falling and rising.
the storm is over. Flowing water. Acacia moistens the heart of fallen flowers.
In the dark sea mulberry field, the gentle black hair is playing an endless music.
tonight, when the flowers are falling and the moon is dark, where do you sing the praises of your life?
3. Acacia
Red lotus root is fragrant. Fragrant chrysanthemum
The butterfly has gone, and the flowers are muddy red. A reed boat, rippling over the green water and blue waves.
in front of the rhombic mirror, I can't hold back my tears.
untie Luo Shang lightly, go to the blue boat alone, and look at the flying geese. Who sent the brocade book in the cloud?
if you lean on the railing carelessly, the horizon will be broken, and the water bridge will be entangled. Weak water three thousand, Qian Fan is empty. The eyebrows are lightly locked, and the locks are locked into the heart.
A woman who is far away from the world, and whose white clothes are better than snow, has empty eyes and slightly cold fingertips. She unfolds a roll of plain paper and gives it a length. Sandalwood Ran Ran in the furnace, the thoughts on the plain paper are dense, and the deep and shallow geese are thin and cool, which makes the strings cold and makes the beauty thin. Just frown, but the acacia in my heart takes root, germinates, grows crazily, and is entangled in all kinds of flat and graceful sentences. As Wu Gou saw it, the railings were patted all over, and the tall buildings were exhausted. He wanted to say something, but he still took a break.
west building. Frost sent to Han Xiao, clouds covered the waning moon. Looking at it, the flowers drift and the water flows, adding new worries.
There's nothing I can do to eliminate this feeling. Can Lanting have you, who can penetrate the heart of Sansheng Stone and come as promised?
4. Dream of finding
the west window. Cool moon. Vines are tangled around the mottled old wall.
the years are dark, the piano case is dusty, and a deep sorrow wanders around in my heart, tossing and turning, still lonely and lonely.
the clouds are loose and loose, and Diane's eyebrows are shallow and shallow, which is unbearable and ugly. My heart is tangled with spider silk, and I can't stop cutting it.
Plain sleeves wipe away tears, brush strokes touch ink, the joy of book scene after scene, and pages of parting are written.
there is no plan, no plan, "the screen is lovesick, and it is useless to know it recently. It is better to throw, and you will find each other in your dreams. "
a curtain of dreams, let the wind roll the curtain. The fragrance of the case is enchanting, the elegant rhyme is splashed silently, and the feelings are sent, and the tea is lightly wrapped. Swallows fly on the eaves, whispering softly. I admire the elegant flowers quietly with you, cut the western window with you, and set the sun on the blue boat arm in arm with you, and make an example of Qi Mei harps and harps with you. Your warm fingers lightly weigh the love like water, decorating the poetic sea of hearts, and a fish scatters, scatters and splashes affectionately.
......
When I wake up, the dream is far away, the west window is white, the moon is cold, and the yard is full of lilacs like snow.
The lingering acacia continues to beat the thin white dress. Your shadow is looming in the tears.
In the golden years, Acacia walked through with dreams.
you know, I dare not grow old without you?
I, Jing Zhen Hong Chen, am waiting for you in a song poem, waiting for a ten-mile red makeup.
A touch of paper and ink, a touch of love in a white dress, and love chanting flat and graceful words, euphemistically turned into a long and short Millennium swan song.