Author: Phantom ☆ phantom childPublished: 2012-11-6 22:02:42
Stranger's eyes groping and crawling in the countryside, lost wild chrysanthemums sprouting on the barren yellow soil.
My persistent faith shrinks beneath a puddle of mire, and the sanctuary of my heart collapses in a false smile.
The moon is a myth, and the autumn winds are blowing the red cheeks of the people who are in a state of bliss.
The desolate border town of Xiaoxiao twilight drums beat in the homesick person's heart tip, in front of the shuttered window is who helplessly ruffled the thin light veil.
Can there be a horse galloping toward the slanting sun by the green river? The willow bridge in the south of the river has a small wooden boat babbling underneath it.
I sing only for the heart there is a little bit of sunshine can not be cut off, but who will allow me to sigh of pity for the cold crows in the branches.
The years have sharpened the edges of youth and left scars that can't be erased, and the moss still writes about the bitterness and joy of my life.
The winter cold and spring warmth is just a moment of opening and closing the eyes, my hands only a pot of bubble no color overnight tea.
Who between heaven and earth with the mountains and rivers inherited a thousand years of calligraphy, between the mountains and rivers is who forgot the inscription of life and death.
You have your ink painting, I have my butterfly flower.
Burning out the red dust dash of fame and fortune chasing, I'll just sit and wait for the spring breeze one night Dongjun married.
Saying what the end of the world, this love has no other, say what the passage of years but is the twilight rain morning sun.
The thunder and lightning can't resist the sound of your mouth, and the sea is a colorful silk handkerchief that you can turn on your fingertips.
The world has given rise to a battle between the weak and the strong, and the end of the world is not a place where I can tell whether it is true or not.
The hero's fall hurt the mirror green silk into white hair, distant mountains indifferent just a song of disillusionment broken lute.
The legend of the quartet can't argue with the alternating winter and summer, the empty dojo frequently renders the bustle of the downtown.
The stringed zither sings the reed of the red face, who in the cold night discarded the infatuation of Hu Jia.
The fate of the stop and go of the other side of the sky, can allow me to find a side of the source of re-writing love and hate of the red brick and tile.
You say drunk on the drunkenness of what the stars indifferent song and dance noisy, you say cry on the cry for fear of what cynicism and deceit.
This season's chaotic clouds through the air is the reincarnation of heaven's punishment, how many ink and paintings of the East changed into the West.
I believe in the Sanskrit singing Zen sound will give up the struggle of the heart, I closed my eyes can only be pretending to be deaf and dumb.
The sound of the piano is not enough to play the sweet and sour in the rain, your hands can have my doom raft?
The two lines of tears are not allowed to give up that part of the attachment to the rolling dust, the wine song I delivered the fate of the contract on the drawings of the pledge.
The cold wind is always attached to the corner of the cowering in the broken clothes of the remnants of the tea, the snow in the white eyes can not see through this is the world of who.
Farmers cultivate the fairy tale of not being able to eat, and the copper smell of the vermilion door holds tightly to the fairy tale of sangmai.
A bitter word can not exhaust the wind and dew cold window figure Zhuwan Xue will be sorry, red face when the smile of natural beauty enough to enrich the country and home.
Dance a song on the bottom of the sleeve powder transformed into blood washed frost, drunk a bar plum bloom branches to listen to the winter language scattered in the thin shoulder blades.
Strike, strike, strike, I only do a red dust passerby to enjoy the autumn chrysanthemums sigh spring flowers, but the pain of the years to wear a cold gold armor.
Embroidered endless beautiful clouds, the original is dust ì filled wooden box, the good Jiangshan left to the little people play.
Look at the crescent moon floating on the water surface, the artifices of the shade and the inexplicable change from time to time.
Can't turn off the spring color today your house tomorrow my house, who can expect the oath to be sound and simple?
A song of the two springs reflecting the moon is cold and lonely hearts, trembling hands can not gather the scattered gray hairs.
They have been a great help to me in my endeavors, and I'm sure they'll be a great help to you in your endeavors.
The wheel of the year can not withstand the wrinkles of the number of slow climb, the naive posture to catch the tail of the sun in vain.
The day made the night is still lamenting the world can not tolerate a thousand miles of horse, who has failed who who is the myth of who?
Let's wait for it, the pen falls at the jagged, there are some waves flying clouds away from the end of the world.
The profundity of the sea nourishes more than just the lobsters that flaunt their power, so let's wait.
There is still a dewy peach blossom at the end of the spring breeze, waiting for the warmth to fold it down in the cold branches.
Mute, close your dexterous mouth and don't speak, let the wind and rain pour out the wonders of your dreams.
The sunrise on the sea, the ships on the sea, the smoke in the desert, and the horses in the wilderness are the best answer for you
The sunrise on the sea, the ships on the sea, the smoke in the desert, and the horses in the wilderness are the best answer for you.