Cold rain knocking on the window lights and shadows shake, dream back to the South Tang Dynasty. The only forest flowers in front of the tomb Zhu, do not see the Jinling and incense tears a column. The old face of the empty west building, perished in the wine of the pulling machine. The sky is a word of art in vain for the Lord, why wrongly born in the chaos of the emperor's house.
The forest flowers thank the spring red, too hasty, helpless, cold rain in the morning and wind in the evening.
March in the late spring, indifferent cold, the east wind is powerless, falling flowers into the array. You alone on the high floor to look at Jiangnan, shot all over the railing. Thinking of the lake and mountains there, dense willow long embankment, lush forests and bamboo, mulberry reeds, thinking of your former dynasty, the people, love wife and children, you hate, you are just a weak scholar, cowardly emperor, powerless to drive south to take the mausoleum, recover the mountains and rivers. Powerless to stand on horse and sword, invincible, drive the Song soldiers in thousands of miles away. The mighty river carries your thoughts of your homeland, the deep remorse for the loss of the country. Under the lonely lamp, the night rain, the pen strokes the piano who listen - since people grow to hate the water long east.
Spring flowers, autumn and moon, when the past know how much. The small building last night and the east wind, the old country can not look back in the moonlight.
Seeing the late fall again, the lone museum, the days are like years. You have no words alone to the setting sun, by the fence sadness, the old garden eyes broken, Yanhong a few words. In this moonlight cold night, you remote to the homeland, Jinling speechless, Qinhuai speechless. Lonely sycamore, deep courtyard in autumn. Just a small building, even if the moon can lock the yard full of autumn colors, and how can lock the sadness of the deep sadness. Jiangnan on the garden, jade trees, Mochou Lake, cars like flowing water, horses like dragons. Everything is in a dream. Ask you can have a few sorrows, just a river of spring water flowing east. In the courtyard, the fallen Ying have, Yi Mei horizontal flute who understand - all is the sound of the broken heart.
Raining outside the curtain, the spring is out of sight. The coverlet is not resistant to the cold of the five nights, and I don't know if I'm a guest in my dreams.
Red brocade floor clothes, golden lotus platform. The long coat and water sleeves, the warbling song and swallow dance. Outside the temple of the spring cold can not be driven away from the temple of the night feast of the joy, lotus platform is above your red face in the palace of the most good dance woman Suhui Maiden, flavorful, winks such as silk. Water sleeves lightly thrown, step by step lotus. Three inches of golden lotus in six feet of lotus dancing, dancing low dawn moon, dance all the spring breeze, dance drunk on earth, but also dance drunk you, you flick the flowers and smell, want to sniff scattered this fascinating drunkenness, refreshing the heart is the bone-chilling cold, open your eyes into the eyes of the cold rain knocking on the window, the green lamps and lonely shadows, shocked to realize that the party's pleasure, but is just an old dream. The west downstairs, running water and flowers who pity - heaven and earth.
Dust is gone, and the smoke is gone. The company's website has been updated with the latest information about the company's products and services, and the company's website has been uploaded to the website. You have broken the soul of the millennium, but in an appendicular rainy night I still often dream back to the Southern Tang Dynasty, in the moon hazy, light hazy spring night to listen to your socks step incense step, handheld gold stranded shoes soft singing, in a river of spring water to salvage your perpetual sorrow, in a curtain of the mountains and water in the end of the flowers of the sadness to feel you endowed with the new words to add to the old sadness of the sentiments of the uninhabited Mang Mountain to search for you in the deserted and forlorn back. Spring flowers, fall and moon are endless, when will they end? When will it end? When will the flowers bloom and fall year after year? Time is running out, it is already a thousand years later, in the vast history of the sea, the amorous and flirtatious after the Lord ah, you in the end is the sorrow of the Southern Tang Dynasty? Or is it the luck of the Chinese literary world?
Return to the ferry toward the evening
Nian: should be read, return to the carving, when we meet, but it seems to be empty set up. I thought to welcome you, then will be the submerged night of interest, ink dance silk, words can be good. The first thing I did was to get a vague statement that I was afraid that you would be tired, and that the night would be quiet, and that I would just look out the window and see the frost on the ground. The next morning, we asked a sentence of impatience, even if the absolute suspicion of guessing, but also began to know that there is no way to stop another place of silk to stir up the dust. You do not know snoring sleep, the other side of the tossing and turning without sleep, you do not know that the silence has turned into a service wound. The final thought is not clear, why only a journey to labor, will be cold still fluttering in the Xuange of the residual warmth. The first thing I'd like to say is that I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to do this.
We: eyebrow shallow, painted double moth, eyes wave, a path of natural state. I'm not sure if I've ever been to a place where I've had a good time, but I'm sure I've been to a place where I've had a good time. The mirror also put the morning face light. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm going to be able to do it. The cold forest clusters, painting screen show, even if it is surprised back to the place, all is spring dye, will not be outside the Xuanluo, no plan in vain show song. I have been in the mood for you to playful, then smile, but also have a three-point dimple, shallow with seven points of joy smooth, such as water over the pebbles, recalling all the way to love the fluent. No one knows, since then, when and you back, and will not pillow beach stains, no worry pining, only the north stand still, urge the southern shore flowers crow dew.
Winter: frozen clouds deep, light snow companion, no intention to look at, cold colors quietly reflect the sky. You Fang Cui Yi thick, this place has been the north wind tight, sleeve bleak. A number of lonesome, probably only because of the vegetarian hard to meet with the Yan Ye, do not good hand to meet, Junhuai has not been deep Mei Yue. So the morning and evening feasts, but also can only see all the touring, a good night of clear silhouette, rely on the wind, swinging all the not light to give up. Thought winter can also be warm because of you, but from time to time found that the original winter is only the original winter. The sky is far away, the mountains and waters are far away, whether I can also put away the Hu Jia grievances, Qin Lou heavy barriers, let the traveler's soul lightly away from the demolition.
Autumn: Twisting the clear day, the end of the vegetarian evening, eliminating the condensation, about the Danqing partition. The painting of the building, the scene full of dipping good old days. The paper has been paved with jade dust, a little bit of osmanthus full of incense picking to know you that year, the autumn moon like poetry que. I have the intention to pity me, but I can't help but be lucky to see each other. Maybe when you are bright, I am dashing. In the street, the strange and wonderful branch deep climbing around, and the cold ink stone only Ke snuggle. So far, the light, even if there is a residual fragrance, also seems to have knotted the top of the fall, day after day to meet do not sigh late, only sigh meet outside the competition to play a new sound. The coverlet is embraced by the pillow, but it is like two lonely sleep. A little trace, such as ink dye, and then Danqing good season, clearly misplaced the color of the season.
Summer: river like dye, mountain like cutting, long time away from the lack of, but the wilderness empty light. Row after row, the water eye mountain eyebrows, only afraid of the mountains to add Chuanling water diffuse simmering red, Zunqian see, shocked crazy eyes, and then not like that year. The former gathering of lotus clusters Tingzhou, even if the clear wave practice quiet, but also enough to ten thousand green water around the Zhu Lou empty after contempt. Willow shade flower path, all over the brocade covered fragrant strata, drunken into the guest, that a long time wind anvil rhyme sound, hidden me at the anchorage song, gradually by reed reed cover, a lonesome tired of it. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular ones.
Remembering the love affair, the pink wall had spied on you for several years. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots, and then you'll be able to get your hands on a new pair of shoes or boots. I think of the old meaning, the shallow dimple increase Yan. The new sound of your voice will keep me going. I will not dare to drop out of the program, but I will not bear the burden of a good day. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on the way to the next level.
A Demoiselle Tobacco Rendezvous River
The passage of time, the years rolled over the old traces, the residual indifference to the blandness and sadness. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get a good look at the whole thing, but I'm sure I'm going to be able to get a good look at the whole thing.
That had or light or strong mood, that had also bitter and sweet taste, that had also sad and happy emotions, are unknowingly swaying with the wind and gradually passed away, and finally everything is returned to the flat, no longer revived.
Walking through the youth of young people, in the journey of life experienced trials and tribulations. Just like the taste of coffee, extremely bitter and sweet, but in the boiling white water exudes a strange fragrance. An older brother once said to me, "Beautiful dreams must fly along with a simple life." The softly spoken words often echoed in my ears, stirring through time.
Since birth, it was like a cup of plain water, simple and clear. But with the growth of years, that life is like a coffee brewing general flavor, all the way to taste, and finally came to the bumpy road to today, a sigh of relief: live is not easy! Love, hate, hurt, pain, all kinds of flavors around the heart, and even time and time again in the struggle between life and death, sadness and happiness of the pain and suffering, are like coffee finely crushed into powder, in the nirvana burned and dissolved. This kind of taste, cold and warm; this kind of suffering, only self-pity.
The azalea of that year dyed the mountains red. After years, it has long been turned into spring mud, just that piece of blue water and blue sky remains. The year's personnel, was the heart of the anxious sound. After many years, it has been scattered into the dust of the mortal world, only that volume of poetry in the interpretation of the meaning of love. The lake of that year was once a clear blue water. After years, has drought into a piece of burst land, just your ageless deep love in the rhetoric, word by word shouting.
Sedimentation of tears, the long past, pragmatic life, fine taste of the world's various flavors before the concave and convex in the inscription of life in the carving of life's eternity. Pursed lips, frowning, tasting the bitter flavor of coffee, in the curling aroma, silently reflecting on themselves, looking forward to tomorrow. Today's sun sets in the west, tomorrow's sun rises again from the east, to walk tomorrow's road, only to keep in mind the journey taken yesterday, pondering the road being walked today, only in the harvest and the other side of the shore close.
The snow is purely white, who can pain book a paper? I'm looking at the end of the world, where is the return date? The west wind is dancing wildly, I just want to be drunk in this life. Looking back at the passing years, sitting at the end of the youth, that old face is still unchanged, looking at the street full of people, vaguely feel the years like water, tenderness infinite.
Following the tail end of the years forward, indifferent to know that the depths of each person's mind there is a flower mound, those who once let a person's heartbeat or heartbreaking story, bit by bit by loneliness and loneliness on a lock, although we are the master of their own kingdom, but can not control the years of pain. Precipitation of tears has long rinsed the scars of yesterday, the air filled with the faint fragrance of gardenia, let those aroma long around the tip of the heart it! Tomorrow's story and in the passionate interpretation of the hurriedly unfolded, walking in the still lonely, but is obsessed with flying in the strings until the other side of the river of forgetfulness!
People are destined to be lonely, no one can accompany themselves for a lifetime. Life is grim, it is not a beautiful serenade, not to mention a romantic lyric, it is the sun and wind and rain of the fight, is the joy and pain of the alternation. People on the journey, can not help it, countless setbacks are waiting for us to walk through alone, wind and rain, thunder and lightning, snowstorms and frost, we are bound to face. As long as we firmly believe that there is no life can not pass, not climbed the mountains, although always in the lonely swallow adolescent bitterness, but when the real pain, compared to the so-called loneliness and loneliness is insignificant, I believe that the music of life, we are the same as the music sung again.
The ordinary world, ordinary life, valuable life, I think we have to cherish. People's lives are long and short, drunken life, will not leave any traces of their own history, and if I cherish, even if life is as short as a flash in the pan, but the moment between the glow but always stay in people's hearts, which is enough. People on the journey, how can not suffer some injuries, not through some setbacks? But when we really experience the taste of pain and pleasure, everything is flat, tasted, will have no regrets in life.
Cold incense through, dense flying, scooping up the moon in the hand, with the wind and moon drunk. A clean clothes, with a plain heart to look at life, remember the years that have gone by, remember the pain that has been suffered, remember the love that has been there, remember that there has been a beautiful time.
Glory and shame are forgotten, see the sky clouds roll clouds; go and stay without intention, look at the court flowers blossom and fall; watch the other side of the happiness, sit and watch the moon, the tide rises and falls. Point a lamp of the heart, a straw raincoat tobacco Ren Jiangping close to each other, walking in the wind and rain in the journey ......
A straw raincoat tobacco Ren Jiangping A
The passage of time, the light cleansing of the old traces, leaving behind only a slight indifference to the blandness and sadness. The Pu water side, you fluttered away, leaving only the jaws and sighs of the Chu ambassador.
Or like the taste of sweet and sweet, or love also bitter and sweet stimulation, who is like you ---- Zhuangzi, indifferent to everything, and the Road to become one, only paranoia that the light of innocence.
When a kind of beauty, the beauty of people at a loss, but also have to dance with their hands and feet; when a kind of blandness, so light that people can not taste, but also have to sigh of pity, praise of appreciation. You are willing to be indifferent, happy in the bland, self-satisfaction in the bland, only in the dream of the butterfly and free, only with the circling roc floating in the world, do not want to be tired in the country, do not want to be involved in the world, you are just like that sweet and fragrant water of the mineral springs, to give a person to the survival of the situation, to give a person to the calm and far-reaching, to give a person to the outside world, I want to touch the lapel of your clothes, but in the fingertips touched the clear and clear, cool and soft! I want to touch your lapel, but at my fingertips, I touched the clear, cool and soft spring water, which is what it tastes like.
However, I can not get rid of that sweet temptation, can not forget that bitter or sweet fragrance, only in the time of no way out, look at your calm as water eyes, crystal clear to the extreme, long and far, look off the road to the end of the world.
I thought you were lonely, but you told me "gentleman's friendship is as light as water" friendship, Huizi's departure did not change your howl such, it turned out that you have long seen through life and death, looking through the red dust. What to praise your plain, I have long been wordless.
Remembering the past, the prosperous competition. You are still free to swim in the world, penetrate the nature of the infinite. The world is just your subjective product, and even you understand the joy of the river fish, the butterfly dance of pleasure, the mantis of the negative, swaying and go, weaving in the mire, why care about the power of the struggle, who said that you have to bear the weight of the life can not bear.
Dense atmosphere, the moon can be picked up, you are in the wind at night alone watch the moon, so that in the people resting on their laurels when the white moon will not be lost --- just because you have a plain heart to chase. The world laughed at you crazy, your indifferent eyes but regaled speechless, suddenly realized that your light spring-like philosophy so deep, you have long drifted away.
Only a glimpse of you, but a glimpse of a bland and far-reaching attitude in the world, light, light, never for the domination of all things, I only free in the Maundy outside, the cicada shedding drag, I just want to hold the bright moon and long end. The river a straw raincoat tobacco, a piece of onyx.
Teach me how to trace your pace, the beauty of the essence of nothing to do; teach me how to touch your lapel, the bland and transcendent attitude.
This is you, isn't it? Pale as spring water, you're paranoid about chasing, and that fluttering piece of onyx by the spring is the ethereal song that rises for you.
Sitting alone at the west window tonight, I listened to the sound of heavenly music outside the window.
It's been a long time since I've been sitting by the window, but I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to see it, because I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to see it.
I don't know when, the rain, lingering, like a long time lovers in the pain of talking about love, but also like a couple in a whisper. I am the most like the rain, especially like this drizzle of autumn rain, accompanied by a slight evening breeze, singing the elegy of life.
Listening to the rain and watching it has always been my favorite thing in life. The best time to listen to the rain is like this night, no daytime noise, no earthly annoyance, everything is silent, only the sound of rain accompanied by silk. Even the evening wind is also gentle, this gentle evening wind from nowhere, with a strong smell of a distant place, it seems that it is a distant place to send a light song. It gently brushes through the curtains, through my long hair, and turns around and goes back towards the place it is heading towards. The wind is free, without any worldly interference, coming and going as it pleases.
The rain got heavier and heavier, so I got up and closed the window, pulled up the curtains, and shut out the evening breeze. The rain is hitting the window, which is a kind of poetry and romance.
Listening to the rain at the end of the night, the sound of rain gurgling, seems to hear who is crying in the rain. Who was that woman singing a song "Burying Flowers", burying flowers with tears in the fall rain? Isn't that Lin Daiyu, the princess of Xiaoxiang? "Wake up with who complains, grass and cold smoke infinite love", swollen eyes of Lin Daiyu crying with a flower basket, swaying bee waist to come, "whimpering is still not yet, fallen flowers full of birds flying" extraordinary she really is the world's true woman. "Cold moon burying the soul of the flowers" can be described as shocking, but I can only marvel at her in the infatuation into the cold moon, fluttering away!
The table puts Zhang Eileen's "Love in a Fallen City", casually flipping through, can not help but think of this depressed end of the literary beauty. Undoubtedly, her words are beautiful, but under the beautiful words is a lonely heart, sadness makes her words more mysterious. Her words are her sadness, her candle tears condensed into? No one can understand Eileen Chang. She was lonely and went to the end of her life, and this is the place where her heart belongs.
The sound of the rain is lingering, the water is illuminated by flowers, two talented women such as the world, whether it will still be worried about the tears? Sigh only sigh, a wisp of soul, such as light smoke and pass away.
Once I heard a philosopher say that every window is an image of life. But I feel that behind every window is a metaphor for the landscape of life. Between people is due to the distance produces beauty, it can be said that the scenery and people can only be viewed from afar can not be close to appreciate. If you look close, you can still have the feeling of the beginning, it must be a blend of true love and care in which, more or less have a little true feelings. The landscape from afar, close to see people, such as a heart of the world without dye, even if you look at the vast desert, will see a life oasis; even in the cold reality of life, you can also find the warmth of friendship.
The heart is like a small window, clean it from time to time, the window of the heart is dustless, in order to see from the glimpse of the common people can not appreciate the beauty of the scenery. But such a time is often encountered and can not be sought, only in such a quiet night, the mind has a piece of clean air, standing by the window will be able to slowly appreciate the world's rare beauty.
The night is deep, the rain stops, the flowers do not sleep, the window does not speak. The young people who will be passing away will leave a few tears behind, looking at the back of the gradual passing away, the wind flotsam like flowers floating down. At this point, everything seems to have changed, things are not the same, only a window door to accompany me to wait for the quiet night.
I smiled and pushed open the window, the sky without the moon and no stars, only after the rain of the remnants of the flowers in contemplation. Perhaps it is not necessary for the stars to shine brightly, nor is it necessary for the moon to be as watery as water, my heart has been slowly merging with the sky and the earth and the spirit of the sky, and there is no distinction between the two.
Dreaming of Biancheng
Looking for Biancheng is like searching for a silent river that stops at an ancient crossing in western Hunan. The Biancheng, like a diamond in the rough, has been forgotten by time and eroded by the winds of the years. Now it is like a sunset, opening the long scroll sealed for thousands of years, with clean landscapes, green tiled houses, simple smiles filled with stories and bags of outsiders. Some people in the mottled old wall, counting the years of Phoenix; some people in the calm Tuojiang River, looking for Phoenix past moments; some people in the wet stone road, recalling the old dream of Phoenix line gone. Before this, there was no reason for despair; after this, there is no longer an excuse for wandering.
Walking in the corridor of the ancient bridge, quietly feeling the simple flavor and style of the border town. The length of the Rainbow Bridge is also the length of life, it is the distance between this shore and the other shore, you can stay at both ends, you can also come and go, but can never cross. Standing on the Rainbow Bridge, listening to the sound of time flowing, your eyes only the blue water under the bridge, and no longer the connotation of the bridge itself. Look at the boat passing under the bridge, so many hands swinging the oars, you do not know which hand is waving goodbye, which hand is calling. No matter which direction they are heading, they are all flowing along the track of their own yearning. All you can do is to stop, look out, and let the sunlight pour on the bridge from different angles. The sunlight that condenses the wisdom and fraternity, without any dust and disturbance, is completely sprinkled on every place with scenery in the border city.
Tuojiang River is filled with mist, a lot of introverted beauty is hidden here. The human history of the border city, the border city of the flavor of the story, the source of the lifeblood of the border city, are from the water of the Tuojiang River began. This is the water of the spirit, it has nurtured generations of people in the border town, soak their simple soul. This is the water of wisdom, it can carry the boat, can also overturn the boat. It gives vastness to the benevolent and narrowness to the foolish. Those standing in the bow of the boat singing Miao girls, delicate singing voice, pure tunes dissolve in the mountains and water, so that travelers from the north and south intoxicated in the middle of it do not want to wake up. Those sculling boatmen, in the Tuojiang River on the wind and rain of a lifetime, until the last time to wear out the light. A boat floating on the water, for the passers-by mooring, but also for the passers-by flow. It can paddle through the Tuojiang River yesterday's story, whether it can also paddle through the border city's future dreams.
The crooked footstools along the river bank decorate the dream of Phoenix, some people in the dyeing of the years track marks of the small building watch, some people will sigh hanging on the eaves of the window pane. In the reflection in the water, I look for the historical traces of that year, the simple old things, the clear river water, as usual imagination, but with a sober shock. Crossing the boundaries of time and space, capturing the light and shadow of the past, recreating the spring and fall of the past. Thoughts are y impacted by the old scene, and the gentle water has a sharp edge, which stabs at the ancient memories and peels off the real history. Many lost fragments about the hammock are flooded and carried by the river. You can be sentimental salvage, can also be calmly stranded, remembered or forgotten, are not important. This is the place for you to open or the same scenery, the same tomorrow.
The jumping thoughts were pulled long by the stone road, the deep alleys seem to lurk many ancient secrets. The smoke and rain fell on the green tile, along the eaves slipped down some of the dust of the past. Sometimes, the rain is more powerful than the sun, it can penetrate the illusion of clouds and mist, the promise of the landscape, with the warmth of the clear and absolute regained the soft emotions of humanity, and with the humidity of the implicit collection of the heart trembling story. It gives you a familiar touch, and gives you a disoriented sobriety. Walking on the stone road, in the simple old things to find the most beautiful scenery, as if a more down-to-earth connotation. The stone road seems to be an old man from the depths of time to come, recounting the past, calm and peaceful, not even a sigh. Those who come to the border city in search of dreams, their figures and figures rub shoulders, souls and souls superimposed on each other, the stories and emotions embroidered into the green stone road. Each piece of green stone, all carved traces of time, recorded the history of the wind and clouds, but also cohesion of the essence of humanities. How many years, to maintain rational silence, collection of every passer-by faintly holding the heart.
Into the quaint old streets, as into the deepest soul of Phoenix, these images from the inner ancient city, is the theme of many people's life. Moss climbing corners, showing dark green old traces, uncovering these mottled memories, so that life is alive again in the sun. The narrow old street is filled with ethnic-style dye houses, wine houses, silver houses, and many unique snacks. An old woman selling ginger candies melts the sweet life of the border town people into the ginger candies, the wrinkles on her forehead are so beautiful, so beautiful that it will make you feel a kind of kind of peace, and there is a kind of pain of vicissitudes. When the heart and the heart no longer have a distance, moved to become the only warmth. Standing at the end of the road, see the sunshine and smoke mingled with the reluctant complex, see the eyes and the heart to pass the unspeakable longing. It was only in a flash that I realized how much of the past there is to look back on; how much of the world there is to look back on; how much of the world there is to look back on.
The red sunset lights up the torch of faith and burns the long-dormant desire of all beings. A red river intoxicates the whole Phoenix, and many spreading images converge into the thinking of the wise. Standing on the ancient city wall, look at the distant towering Nanhua Mountain in the calmness of the hidden perseverance, look at the dusk and twilight under the river floating sculls, look at those holding the bamboo blue walking on the green stone road of the Miao girls, look at the opposite bank of the river those moving footsteps on the slender man. Such a simple and plain life, little by little details, as the ripples of water, dense mist, slowly penetrate your thoughts, y touched your heart. Put down the bag and the years of Xiangxi dialog, with the Phoenix landscape dialog, and the border city of Cuicui dialog. When the smoke rises, you can't help but think that this is your hometown.
This place is called Biancheng, Xiangxi people grew up in Biancheng, Shen Congwen's Biancheng, outsiders dream of Biancheng. It is not like the green bird, have wings to fly, can chase the distant silhouette. It is not like smoke and clouds, there is a misty soul, you can scroll the loneliness of life. It is not like running water, there is a euphonious imagery, can reach the other shore of life. It is not like the moon, there is the story of the circle, can see the vicissitudes of the past and present. It is just quietly born in the native land, old in the native land, no betrayal, no abandonment, will be the generations of ancestors of the plain years set in the landscape of the small town. If the border town is a static landscape, you are walking landscape, you turn away when you have faded away, but the border town is destined to have a long time.
Biancheng is the station of life, many people come here to look for a once forgotten and remembered dream, in order to find the time ferry that Cuicui. Some people say that Cuicui is leaning against the window of the hanging tower to see the scenery, some people say that Cuicui is singing on the wooden boat on the Tuogang River, and some people say that Cuicui is dyed by batik into the diaphanous color of the cloth. Many years ago, Cuicui was sixteen, and many years later, Cuicui is still sixteen. Come with a tranquil heart, not chased by the light of day or entangled in the world. When I left, I put my soul in the border city, and one day, when I came back, I was no longer a passer-by, but a returnee to the border city.
Leaning on the twilight to wipe the ink scroll of the border city, when the eyes penetrate the far away disorientation of the past, some fuzzy fragments are destined to grow old. The water of intellect shines with transparent truth in the sunlight, and the water of life steams like a diaphanous memory in the smoke. From goodness to goodness, in the water to find a simple great beauty, this beauty leads to a peaceful and open-minded life. That an ancient passenger ship, lost the reason to rest, in the silence of the Tuo River, rowing through the ancient city of speechless rhyme. Put down the mood of reminiscence, quietly leave, not wake up Phoenix sleeping dream of a thousand years.
Life is like a wave, waves and waves
A dream as it is, and then dream a thousand years
When the quiet conversion, Wan turned a thousand years of flow.
Singing a song of lovesickness, writing a page full of lonely poetic lines. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
March, the grass is long, the warbler flies, the flower is thick, the rain is moist.
But I missed the time, I missed the place, I missed the person who was supposed to know you and meet you and keep you.
So the fate, fate, people scattered, people hurt.
The three life stone, forget the other side of the river, before the bridge, the other side of the flowers bloom.
Thinking about my previous life is also an elegant woman, but in the coquettish smile can not hide the corner of the eye of the deep indifference.
Several times, and I'm still in this world, the dream always appear your cold face. I think in the past life we must be in love with the two people, otherwise how would have such a familiar face, with such a bitter pain.
Dreams, see you steer a horse, and I'm on the side of the water, a white coat, far from seeing you, dusty clothes, but can not hide the face of the flying spirit. You got off the horse, eyes across my face to find the bunch of peach blossoms in your heart ...... quietly see you steer the horse and return. Flick flowers a smile, but cold handsome as ice dust away. And I still guard the side of the water, bashful smile.
Who is singing: reed reed, white dew for frost. The so-called Iren, on the water side! And I am not your Iren?
Sigh red dust, fall Zhu Yan, pipa a song has been a thousand years. The time of a thousand years, I am still only looking for you, a person used to see the flowers blossom, the moon is full and the moon is short.
The Buddha said, the previous life of a thousand times to look back, in exchange for this life's brush with the shoulder! In the dream, how many times I passed by your side, smiled at you a thousand times, and you never gave me a glance back. The face is still as cold and handsome as ice.
Finally, a light sigh. Turned around, still with the most beautiful smile to look at you again, tears fell for the last time. From now on, I will no longer look for, do not be lonely, that wait for a thousand years of dream is to wake up. A dream as it is, and then dream has been a thousand years.
Let me dance this dance of lovesickness for you again. I'm not sure when I'm going to see you, but I'm not going to be able to see you again.
From then on, my smile bloomed gently, while my heart ached y, I think, this is the so-called engraved in my heart. Well, let all the sorrow as your figure are in that away from the broken dream. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm sure I'll be able to do it," he said.
High mountains and flowing water
Thousands of mountains and valleys, I only carry a silk tung, the sea of clouds, I use the sound of the zither one by one row, sit down.
Introduction
Into the heart of my heart is that from the east mountain stands out and from the west mountain Ran down a round of red sun, it is it knocked on the door of heaven and earth, so that all kinds of sounds and colors wake up together. The pine wind lifts up layers of waves, cranes cry and break through the peaks, and one by one they pass through the sound of my zither. The sky is green and the sea is blue, the flowers are red and the frost is white, also successively colored for the sound of my zither, and finally converged into the green and the blue. I am thus borrowing ten thousand kinds of heavenly music to sing with the gravity of the mountains and the majesty of the sea.
Rise
As in countless times in the past, the raspy silence of the strings or the soaring excitement of the strings are all gifts of nature. The sound of my piano has never stopped the traces of people. I myself have become a short pine on the peak, whisking just a small section of the natural concerto. I'm not happy about the clouds opening up, the moon setting without worrying about it, the ups and downs outside of my body have become the rule, and I'm also calm.
Change
The distant peaks of the mountains, such as the belt, from one mountain to another around the waist, it would have been a boundary, blocking the dust of ten thousand feet. But you are as if nothing, load burden sickle, felling wood to take the road. The mountain is deep and full of leaves, you are only sweating for firewood, why do you make my seven strings broken for no reason? You don't need to look me in the face to decipher the code I wrote in the notes: lofty as a mountain! The ocean is like a river! You don't need to throw a stone, a thousand waves have already turned over.
And
You do not make a sound, but the sound of my piano is enlivened by you. Under my fingers, the pistil of the flower dances because of the visit of the dewdrop, the trial sound of the new bird is extraordinarily clear because of the disturbance of the morning sun, and the stream leaps into a three-thousand-flight waterfall because of the obstruction of the mountain rocks. The mountain peaks under my seat are no longer the peaks of the sky, my heart has opened up a higher and clearer sky for me, and my notes have all become cranes running away, like flying from the clouds and waves. However, in addition to my fingers, all I can do is to sit solemnly, let the plain clothes float up like a banner. Let you behind the ding dang ding ding ding, knocked out a rough and simple pleasant music of sandalwood, let you hesitate for a short time, let your footsteps in the valley step out a long echo.
Approximately
After the sound does not dissipate, the next year can be expected. Next year at this time, this place, I should be for you to play a song, you should be for my wonderful understanding of the sound. The order of time has always, after the leaf yellow leaf green, all have my attention, I stayed but everything in turn forward, the derivation of continue to grow, the decline of the quiet listen to the return of spring. Then you also came as promised, we continue a period of ancient story.
Passing
Another round of yellow laurel. I'm not going to be able to get back, but I'm going to be able to get back to the sound of your footsteps. At my feet, the grass and trees have been in vain for a long time, on top of the mountain rock, the welcome pine has long been sore eyes and tears. And you took the liberty of setting foot on the road of no return!
Ziqi go! I'm going to go to the city, and I'm going to go to the city!
The east wind does not come, the wind is as strong as a roar in the spring mountains in March, my fingers are as stiff as iron, even though the seven strings are intact, my piano has completely lost its voice. Those notes and birds return to the nest with each other, but those accumulated emotions began to wander all over the mountain, they can no longer return to the seat. I am still the same withered pine, the difference is that full of pine needles needles into my heart. The fog is advancing step by step, I have been unable to, light body like a boat to break through the siege, flying in this sea of clouds, as before.
Brake
Whisking up, the mountain steeply increased height. I can not defy the world. Once the melody back to the mountain of a thousand knobs it, my piano entrusted to the empty valley, let it in April a crack, to not have time to say and has been pouring out of the condensed into a sentence of the ancient indestructible song, left this mountain, left this water, left this can not curtain me.