The lamp shadow outside the window shakes, dreaming back to the South Tang Dynasty. In front of the tomb, Zhu Shao, a pillar of incense and tears in Jinling disappeared. Leave the west building empty, Zhu Yan old, life will lead to wine. God's word is mainly a waste. Why don't you have a royal family in troubled times?

Hualin thanked Chunhong and hurried away, but the cold rain came early and the wind came late.

In late spring March, the desert is cold, the east wind is weak, and the fallen flowers are in array. You go upstairs alone to see Jiangnan and pat the railings all over. Think about the lakes and mountains, the dense willows and long dikes, the lush forests and bamboo seas, and the mulberry reeds. Think about your old country dynasty, the plebeian people, your wife and young son. You hate that you are just a weak scholar and a cowardly emperor, unable to go south to take Jinling directly and recover the mountains and rivers. Can't immediately horizontal knife, invincible, drive Song Bing thousands of miles away. The surging river carries your yearning for your old country and your deep regret for your national subjugation. Under the solitary lamp, it rains at night, and whoever listens to his pen and piano-naturally, people hate water when they grow up.

When is the spring flower and autumn moon, how much is known about the past. The small building was easterly again last night, and the old country could not bear to look back on the moon.

See late autumn again, lonely and lonely, and the days are like years. You are silent and lonely in the sunset, and you are sad by the railing, so your garden is broken and the words are wild. In this cold moonlit night, you are far away from home, Jinling is speechless, and Qinhuai is speechless. Solitary phoenix tree, deep courtyard clear autumn. It's just that the small building is locked in the courtyard autumn scenery. How can it be locked in this deep sorrow? Jiangnan Shangyuan, Yushu Qionglin, Mochou Lake, Ma Rulong with flowing cars. Everything is in a dream. How much sadness can you have? It's just a river flowing eastward. In the yard, there are many English losers. Who knows that the flute is in Iraq and America-muddy is heartbroken.

The rain outside the curtain is gurgling, and the spring is fading. Allred-rochow can't stand the cold of five people, and he doesn't know that he is a guest in his dream.

Red brocade lichen, golden lotus. Be good at dancing with long sleeves. The cold spring outside the temple can't dispel the banquet in the temple. Above the lotus terrace is the most dancing woman in your beauty palace, with all kinds of amorous feelings and eyes like silk. The sleeves are lightly thrown, and the lotus grows step by step. Three-inch golden lotus dance six-foot lotus platform, dancing low abortion, dancing spring breeze, dancing intoxicating the world, dancing intoxicating you You come to smell the flowers and want to smell away this charming drunkenness, but it is biting cold. When you open your eyes, the window is lonely. It's just an old dream. West downstairs, who pity the drowning person-heaven and earth.

The dust is gone, and the smoke is gone. Zhongshan is majestic, and Qinhuai remains the same. You have been dead for thousands of years, but I often dream of returning to Nantang on a hazy rainy night, listening to the gentle singing of your socks and golden shoes on a hazy spring night, salvaging your permanent sadness in a spring water, feeling your feelings of adding new words to old worries in a curtain of mountains and rivers, and in a desolate mountain. Spring flowers and autumn moon are endless, when will it stop? Bloom flowers fall every year, when? How time flies! It's been a thousand years. In the vast history, the romantic and affectionate queen, are you the sorrow of the Southern Tang Dynasty? Or the luck of China's literary world?

Return to the ferry later.

Miss: I should miss you, but when I meet you, it seems empty. I thought that when I greeted you, I would sneak into the night with elegant taste, dark dancing and beautiful words. However, all I got after asking was vague words. I'm afraid you'll be tired and quiet all night. I just looked out the window, covered with frost. The next morning, I asked a question that I couldn't stand. Even if I never guessed, I know I can't stop the dust caused by another Luo Qi. You don't know that you snore and sleep. You don't know that silence has become a war wound. I can't figure out why it's just a tiring journey, so cold, and I'm still rushing to the porch. Yesterday's words were like butterflies, but now they are scattered.

Me: my eyebrows are shallow, I draw a pair of moths, full of waves, and all the way to a natural state. No more problems, accustomed to the old rewards thrown out gently, different places become a tour. The mirror also shines in the morning. Abandon your charming face, don't wear makeup, and cover your eyes with light smoke. Have you seen my eyes like knives? Cold forest, screen painting exhibition, and even amazing places are all dyed in spring, and they will no longer be outside the porch and have no intention of singing. I used to be beautiful because of your interest. At that time, I smiled a little charming, a little cheerful, and a little smooth, like water flowing through goose eggs, calling for smooth memories all the way. No one knows that from now on, I will turn my back on you, and I will not stick to the beach beside my pillow, nor will I care about it. Only the north will not move and promote bloom on the south bank.

Winter: the frozen clouds are deep and the snow is light, so I have no intention to see them. The cool color reflected the sky silently. Your kindness is strong, and the north wind is tight and the sleeves are bitter here. A few lonely games, probably just because it has been difficult to be glamorous, not good at catering, and your arms have never been flattering. Therefore, the banquet in the evening can only be seen everywhere, the night is bright and swaying against the wind. I thought that winter can be warm because of you, but sometimes I find again and again that winter is just the original winter. The sky is far away and the mountains and rivers are beautiful. Can I also put away the grievances beyond the Great Wall? Qin Lou is a heavy obstacle, but my soul is light and detached.

Autumn: sunny, late, condensed, faint Danqing parting. In the painting building, the scenery is full of beautiful past. Plain paper used to be covered with jade dust and filled with osmanthus, picking out your autumn moon that year as a poem. I'm interested in pity, but I can't help it. Maybe I was raining when you were sunny. In the alley, strange and wonderful branches climb around deeply, and the cold inkstone is solitary. At this time, in the plain light, even if there is fragrance, it seems to be the end of autumn. It's not too late to meet each other every day, just sighing for the new sound. He is holding his pillow, but it seems that he is sleeping in two places alone. A little mark, such as ink dyeing, clearly missed the color of that season in a good season.

Xia: The river is dyed, the mountain is cut, it has been missing for a long time, and the wasteland is empty. I'm afraid that mountains add water and mountains are red, and I'm surprised and crazy when I see you. In the past, picking lotus in Tingzhou was enough to sigh around the bamboo building even if it was sunny and calm. Liu Yin flower diameter, covered with brocade, became a guest when I was drunk, and the morning breeze rang, covering my best, and gradually being covered by cockroaches. I was lonely and tired. I dare not count my dreams, but I can't stop. I'm exhausted. I've been worried about it for a long time. I'm dreaming, hoping to make a comeback.

Recalling that love, I have seen you in the white wall for several years. You often hold a rhinoceros tube, and I often fold plain bills. I still live, but I always smile and don't understand. Think of the old meaning and increase the beauty. You press the new voice, and I'll stay. Never dare to wait to drop out of school, and finally can't bear to be negative. Your memory is the heart of my life, and I owe you thousands of tears.

Yikun Tobacco Ren Jiangping

As time goes by, years run over old traces, leaving behind indifference and sadness. Looking at the river, thinking about the past, bustling, fighting for each other, quietly disappearing.

Once light or strong mood, once bittersweet taste, once mixed feelings of sadness and joy, all disappeared with the wind unconsciously, and finally everything was dull and never recovered.

Through my youth, I experienced the tempering in my life journey. Just like the taste of coffee, it is extremely bitter and sweet, but it gives off a strange fragrance in boiling water. A brother once said to me, "Beautiful dreams fly with simple life." Faint words often reverberate in my ears and stir in time.

From birth, it is like a cup of boiled water, pure and clear. But with the growth of age, that kind of life is as delicious as making coffee, tasting it all the way, and finally sighing today: it's not easy to live! I have loved, hated, hurt, and hurt, and all kinds of tastes linger in my heart, but even I have struggled between life and death again and again. The pain and suffering of joys and sorrows are all ground into powder like coffee and burned and dissolved in nirvana. This taste is self-aware; So painful, only self-pity.

The azaleas that year dyed Shan Ye red. After many years, it has already turned into spring mud, but the clear water and blue sky are still there. The personnel of that year was also a whisper in my heart. Over the years, it has become a mortal dust, but that volume of poetry is interpreting the meaning of love. The lake in those days was once a clear water. Over the years, it has become a land of explosion, and your youth is affectionate but full of words, and every word is hit the floor.

Precipitated tears, timeless past events and pragmatic life, only after savoring all kinds of tastes in the world can we engrave the eternity of life in the concave and convex inscription of life. Sipping my mouth, frowning, drinking bitter coffee, silently reflecting on myself and looking forward to tomorrow. Today's sun sets in the west, and tomorrow's sun rises in the east. Take a good road tomorrow, only by remembering yesterday's journey and thinking about today's road will we get close to the other side in the harvest.

Snow is white. Who can write a piece of paper? Looking around the world, where is the return date? The west wind dances wildly, and I just want to get drunk in this life. Looking back at the past years, sitting at the end of youth, the old face has not changed. Looking at the people coming and going all over the street, I vaguely feel that the years are like water and the tenderness is infinite.

Walking at the end of the years, we know indifferently that there is a Hua Zhong in everyone's heart. Those stories that once made people feel sad or heartbroken are locked by loneliness and loneliness. Although we are all masters of our own kingdom, the pain over the years is beyond our control. Precipitated tears have already washed away yesterday's scars, and the air is filled with faint gardenia fragrance, so let those fragrances linger in your heart for a long time! Tomorrow's story unfolds in a hurry in passionate interpretation, still lonely in walking, but persistent in flying on the strings until I forget the other side of Sichuan!

Man is doomed to be lonely, and no one can accompany him all his life. Life is tough. It is not a beautiful serenade, nor a romantic lyric. It is the struggle between sunshine and wind and rain, and the alternation of joy and pain. On the journey, people can't help themselves, and countless setbacks are waiting for us to go alone. We must also face wind and rain, lightning, blizzard and frost. As long as we firmly believe that there is no hurdle in life and no mountain we can't climb, although we always swallow the bitterness of adolescence in loneliness, when the real pain is over, it will be insignificant compared with the so-called loneliness. We believe that the concert of life will be sung again.

Ordinary world, ordinary life and precious life, I think we should cherish them. People's lives are long and short, and they will not leave traces of their own history. If I cherish it, even if life is as short as a epiphyllum, the glory of that moment will remain in people's hearts forever, which is enough. On the journey, how can people not be hurt and frustrated? But when we really appreciate the taste of bitterness and joy, everything is unremarkable. After tasting it, we will have no regrets for life.

Full of cold fragrance, flying high, holding the bright moon, drunk in the cool breeze and bright moon. Wearing clean clothes, I look at life with a normal heart, remember the years I passed, remember the pain I suffered, remember the love I had, and remember the good times.

Forget the honor and disgrace, look at the clouds in the sky; I have no intention of staying. I wish Bloom would fall in front of the court. Watching the other side of happiness, sitting and watching the full moon and the lack of it, the tide rises and falls. Light a heart lamp, and a withered tobacco will follow Ren Jiangping closely and walk in the stormy journey. ...

Yiqing tobacco renjiangping a

As time goes by, the old traces are washed away, leaving only the dreariness and sadness of the desert. On the edge of the water, you drift away, leaving only Chu's gaze and sigh.

Or like sweet taste, or love is bitter and sweet stimulation, who is like you-Zhuangzi, indifferent to everything, integrated with the Tao, only paranoid about that faint innocence.

When a kind of beauty makes people feel overwhelmed, they have to dance for it with their hands and feet; When a kind of insipid, light makes people unable to taste, we have to sigh and cherish it and praise it. You are willing to be indifferent, content with being plain, complacent in being plain, only willing to have fun in become a butterfly in your dreams, only willing to wander around the world with hovering Peng, unwilling to be tired of state affairs and unwilling to set foot in the world. You are like the sweet and fragrant mineral water, giving people a desperate life, a quiet and far-reaching life, and something detached. I tried to touch your skirt, but I touched it at my fingertips.

But I can't get rid of the sweet temptation, and I can't forget the bitter or sweet fragrance. When there is no way out, I have to look at your calm eyes, which are unusually clear and long, and I can't see the end of the world.

I thought you were lonely, but you told me that a friend of a gentleman is as light as water. Keiko's departure didn't bring you anything like that. It turns out that you have already seen through life and death and the world of mortals. Why praise your plainness? I have nothing to say.

Miss the past and compete in prosperity. You are still wandering freely in the outside world, understanding the infinity of nature. The world is only your subjective product. Even you know the happiness of river fish, the joy of butterfly dance and the guilt of mantis, swaying away and shuttling through the mire. Why care about the power struggle? Who said you have to bear the unbearable weight of life?

There is a bright moon in the distance. You watch the bright moon alone on a breezy night, so that the bright moon will not be lost when people sit back and relax-just because your dull hearts are chasing each other. The world laughs at your madness, but your cold eyes are speechless. You suddenly realize that your faint spring-like philosophy is so profound, but you are already floating.

I only caught a glimpse of you, but I caught a glimpse of a dull and far-reaching attitude towards life. I will never be dominated by everything. I am alone in the turbid waves, and I only want to die holding the bright moon. There is a withered tobacco and a white mustard on the river.

Teach me how to follow in your footsteps, beauty is the essence of being at a loss; Teach me how to touch your skirt, that kind of indifferent attitude.

This is you, as light as spring, your paranoid pursuit, a Bai Mudan fluttering beside spring, an ethereal song for you. Xing yajie

Meditate by the window

Sitting alone in the west window tonight, listening to the sounds of nature outside the window.

Lying by the window for a long time, my eyes are blurred, and so are people, and the scenery is even more blurred.

I don't know when it began to rain in Mao Mao, and it lingers, like a long-lost lover telling the pain of acacia, and like a couple whispering. I like rain best, especially the misty autumn rain like this, accompanied by a slight evening breeze, singing an elegy of life.

Listening to the rain and watching it have always been my favorite in life. The best time to listen to the rain is such a night. There is no noise during the day, no earthly troubles, everything is silent, only accompanied by the sound of rain. Even the evening breeze is gentle. This gentle evening breeze blows from nowhere, with a deep breath from a distance, as if it were a light song from a distance. It brushed the curtain gently, passed through my long hair, and turned to the place it yearned for. The wind is free, free from any secular interference, free to come and go, and free to do whatever you want.

It was raining harder and harder. I got up and closed the window, drew the curtains, and even the evening breeze was shut out of the window. Listening to the rain with the window closed is more delicious, and the sound of rain knocking on the window door is poetic and romantic.

Listening to the sound of rain in the dead of night, the sound of rain gurgling, seems to hear who is crying in the rain. Who is the woman who sang "Burying Flowers" and buried flowers in tears in the autumn rain? Isn't that Princess Lin Daiyu of Xiaoxiang? "When I wake up, who will I complain to?" Lin Daiyu, who was swollen from crying, had a basket of flowers on her arm and swaying her waist. "Still sobbing, birds are flying everywhere." She is really a real woman in the world. "Leng Yue Buries Flowers Soul" can be described as shocking, but it can only be lamented that she became Leng Yue in infatuation and drifted away!

There is Zhang Ailing's Love in the Whole City on the desk, and when I read it, I can't help but think of this melancholy literary beauty. There is no doubt that her writing is beautiful, but underneath it is a lonely heart, and her writing is more profound because of thousands of worries. Are her words the condensation of her sadness and tears? No one can understand Zhang Ailing's lonely journey to the end of her life, which is the destination of her soul.

The rain is lingering and the spray shines. If those two talented strange girls were still alive, would they still frown and cry? Sigh only sighs, a wisp of fragrant soul, like a wisp of faint smoke.

I once heard a philosopher say that every window is an image of life. But I feel that behind every window is a metaphor for the scenery of life. Beauty comes from the distance between people. It can be said that scenery, like people, can only be seen from a distance, not from a close distance. If you look closely, you can still feel the original feeling. It must be a combination of true love and care. You have some real feelings more or less. If you look at the scenery from a distance and people from a distance, if you have an immortal heart, even if you look at the vast desert, you will see an oasis of life; Even in indifferent real life, you can find the warmth of friendship.

The heart is like a small window, which is often cleaned, so that we can see the beauty that ordinary people can't appreciate at a glance. But such opportunities are often rare. Only in such a quiet night can the soul have a clean and empty space, and when you stand by the window, you can slowly realize the rare beauty in the world.

Late at night, the rain stopped, the flowers woke up, and there was silence outside the window. Tidy up my thoughts, leave a few tears on the lost youth, and look at the drifting back, and the wind is like a flower. At this time, everything seems to have changed, and things have changed. Only one window door is with me waiting for a quiet night.

I smiled and pushed open the window door. There is no moon or stars in the sky, only the residual flowers after the rain are meditating. Perhaps, you don't need bright stars or moonlight like water. My heart has gradually merged with the ethereal world, regardless of each other.

Dream-seeking border town

Looking for a border town is like looking for a silent river and stopping at an ancient ferry in western Hunan. Rough border towns are forgotten by time and eroded by years. Nowadays, it is like the sunrise at the entrance, which has opened a long scroll that has been sealed for thousands of years, and filled the stories and bags of outsiders with clean mountains and rivers, dark blue tile houses and simple smiling faces. Someone counted the rings of the phoenix on the mottled old wall; Someone is looking for the past moment of phoenix on the calm Tuojiang River; Someone is on the wet stone road, reminiscing about the old dream of Phoenix. Before that, there is no reason to be depressed; After that, there is no excuse for wandering.

Walking in the cloister of the ancient bridge, quietly feeling the simple atmosphere and customs of the border town. The length of Hongqiao is also the length of life. Its distance is this shore and the other shore. You can stay at both ends, or you can come and go, but you can never cross it. Standing on Hongqiao, listening to the sound of time flowing, I saw only the clear water under the bridge, not the connotation of the bridge itself. Look at the ships passing under the bridge. There are so many paddlers. You don't know which one is waving goodbye and which one is calling. No matter which direction you go, you flow along the track you yearn for. What you can do is to stop and look out and let the sun pour on the bridge from different angles. The sunshine, which embodies wisdom and broad love, falls completely on every scenic spot in the border town without any dust and interference.

The Tuojiang River is filled with milky fog, and many introverted beauties are hidden here. The human history, amorous feelings stories, source and lifeline of the border town all started from the water of Tuojiang River. This is exquisite and beautiful water, which has nurtured generations of border town people and bathed their simple souls. This is the water of wisdom. It can carry a boat or capsize it. It gives a broad to the benevolent and a narrow to the foolish. Those Miao girls who stand at the bow and sing, with their graceful voices and pure tunes, blend into one mountain and one water, which makes tourists from south to north intoxicated and unwilling to wake up. Those wavering boatmen stormed the Tuojiang River all their lives until the last few hours of exhaustion. A boat floating on the water, moored for passers-by, flows for passers-by. Whether it can cross the story of Tuojiang yesterday, and whether it can also cross the dream of the border town in the future.

The crooked diaojiao building on the river bank is decorated with the dream of the phoenix. Some people watch in the small building stained with the traces of time, and some people hang their sighs on the window lattice under the eaves. Looking for the historical traces of that year in the reflection in the water, the quaint old things and the clear river water, as always, have a sober shock. Cross the boundaries of time and space, capture the past light and shadow, and reproduce the past spring and autumn. Thoughts are deeply impacted by the old scene, and gentle water has a sharp blade. It pierced the ancient memory and dissected the real history. Many fragments of the diaojiao building were submerged by the river and taken away by the river. You can salvage with passion, or you can run aground with indifference. It doesn't matter whether you remember or not. It's still the same scenery for you, the same tomorrow.

Jumping thoughts have been dragged by the stone road for a long time, and there seem to be many ancient secrets hidden in the deep alleys. Misty rain fell on the blue tiles, sliding down some past dust along the eaves. Sometimes, misty rain is more powerful than sunshine. It can penetrate the dreamland of clouds, the infinity of mountains and rivers, capture the warmth of human nature with warmth and clarity, and collect stories of trembling hearts with moistening things silently. It gives you a familiar touch and a vague sobriety. Walking on the stone road and looking for the most beautiful scenery in simple old things seems to have a plain connotation. The stone road seems to be an old man coming from the depths of the years, telling the past, plain and peaceful, without even a sigh. People who come to the border town to find their dreams, their figures pass by, their souls overlap, and their stories and emotions are embroidered into the bluestone road. Each piece of bluestone is engraved with traces of time, records historical situations and embodies the essence of human nature. For many years, I kept a rational silence and collected the faint care of every passerby.

Walking into the quaint old street is like walking into the deepest part of the soul of the phoenix. These images from the interior of the ancient city are the theme of many people's lives. Moss clings to the corner, revealing dark green old marks, uncovering these mottled memories and making life alive again in the sun. The narrow old street is full of dyeing houses, wine shops and silver shops with ethnic customs, and there are many unique snacks. An old woman selling gingerbread melted life is sweet from the border town into the gingerbread. The wrinkles on her forehead are so beautiful that you will feel a kind peace and a vicissitudes of life. When there is no longer a distance between hearts, moving becomes the only warmth. Standing at the end of the road, watching the sunshine and smoke blend with the feeling of reluctance, watching the eyes and heart convey unspeakable nostalgia. Suddenly, I realized how much the dust in the past had passed, and how much I suddenly looked back; There are many ways of the world, and there are many joys and sorrows.

The red sunset lit the torch of faith and burned the desire of all beings who had been sleeping for a long time. A red river intoxicated the whole phoenix, and many circulated images gathered into the thinking of the wise. Standing on the ancient city wall, I can see the fortitude of the towering South Huashan Mountain in the distance, the ships drifting across the river at dusk, the Miao girls walking hand in hand on the Qingshi Road, and the trackers moving across the river. Such a simple and plain life, little by little details, like water waves rippling and milk fog, slowly seeps into your mind and deeply touches your heart. Put down your bags and talk about the years in Xiangxi, the landscape of Phoenix and Cui Cui in the border town. When the smoke rises, you will involuntarily think that this is your hometown.

This place is called the border town, the border town where Xiangxi people grew up, the border town written by Shen Congwen, and the border town dreamed by foreigners. Unlike the bluebird, it has flying wings and can chase distant places. It is not like a smoke cloud, but it has an ethereal soul, which can solve the loneliness of life. Unlike running water, it has a euphemistic image and can reach the other side of life. It is not like the bright moon, but it has a story of the full moon, which can reflect the vicissitudes of life in ancient and modern times. It was born quietly in its native land, always in its native land, without betrayal or abandonment, and embedded the plain years of its ancestors into the scenery of the small town. If the border town is a static landscape, you are a walking landscape. When you turn around and leave, it has disappeared, but the border town is doomed to eternal life.

Border town is a post station of life. Many people come here looking for a forgotten and remembered dream, looking for Cui Cui at the time ferry. Some people say that Cui Cui leans against the window of the diaojiao building to see the scenery. Some people say that Cui Cui sang on a wooden boat in Tuojiang River, and some people say that Cui Cui was batiked into black cloth. Many years ago, Cui Cui was sixteen, and many years later, Cui Cui was sixteen. Come with a quiet heart, not chased by time, nor entangled by the secular. When you leave, you will put your soul in the border town. When you come back one day, you will no longer be a passer-by, but a returnee from a border town.

Leaning against the twilight to wipe the ink roll in the border town, when the eyes penetrate the vague past in the distance, some vague fragments are doomed to grow old. The water of wisdom shines in the sun, the truth is transparent, and the water of life evaporates in the smoke, just like Dai's memory. Taking good advice and seeking a simple beauty in the water leads to a peaceful and broad-minded life. The ancient passenger ship lost the reason to rest and rowed across the silent rhyme of the ancient city on the silent Tuojiang River. Put down the memory and leave quietly, without awakening the dream of the phoenix that has been sleeping for thousands of years.

Life is like a wave, and the wave keeps rising.

If you dream like this, dream for another thousand years.

Silent transformation, turning the eternal romance gently.

Sing a thoughtful song and write a lonely poem full of pages. The fallen petal is independent, flies with the swift, and the knife-shaped eyebrows are blown as warm as jade, so I will never see you again.

In March, the grass grows and the flowers are moist.

But missed the time, missed the place, missed the person who should have met and stayed with you.

Therefore, the origin is destroyed, and people are scattered and hurt.

Sansheng Stone Shore, I can't forget the other shore of Sichuan, in front of Naihe Bridge, and the other shore of bloom.

I wonder if I was an elegant woman in my last life, but I can't hide the desert deep in my eyes between my smiles.

After several generations of reincarnation, I am still in this world of mortals, and your cold face always appears in my dreams. I think we must be two people who loved each other in previous lives. Otherwise, how could there be such a familiar face and such an unforgettable pain?

In my dream, I saw you riding on horseback. I was on the other side of the water, dressed in white. I saw you from a distance, stained with dust, but I couldn't hide my face. You got off the horse, crossed my face, looked for a bunch of peach blossoms in your heart ... and quietly watched you ride home. The flowers smiled, but Leng Jun left as cold as ice. And I am still on the other side of the water, smiling indifferently.

Who is singing: the sword is pale, and the white dew is frost. The so-called Iraqis are on the water side! I'm not your Iraqi?

Sighing the world of mortals, falling beauty, pipa Millennium song. For thousands of years, I am still just looking for you. I'm used to seeing flowers falling in bloom, but I can't see the full moon.

Buddha said, looking back thousands of times in previous lives was only in exchange for passing by in this life! In my dream, I passed you countless times and smiled at you a thousand times, but you never looked back at me. The face is still as handsome as ice.

Finally, with a sigh. Turn around, still look at you with the most beautiful smile, and cry for the last time. From now on, I will not look for it, nor will I be lonely. It's time to wake up the dream that has been waiting for a thousand years. A dream like this, another dream, has passed a thousand years.

Let me dance this lovesickness dance for you again. Acacia knows when to meet, and this night is embarrassing.

From then on, my smile bloomed gently, but my heart was deeply painful. I think this is the so-called unforgettable. Well, let all the sadness be like your figure in that broken dream. After waking up, it should be calm and calm.

High mountains and Running water

Qian Shan is full of valleys, I only carry a trace of tung, and the sea of clouds is boundless. I lined up to sit down with the sound of the piano.

guide

What enters my heart is the red sun rising from Dongshan and falling from Ran Ran in Xishan. It knocks on the door of heaven and earth and wakes up all kinds of sounds and colors together. The breeze set off layers of waves, and the crane broke through many peaks and passed through my piano. The sky is blue, the flowers are red, and the frost is white. They also dyed my piano music red one after another and finally merged into green. In this way, I use one person's ten thousand sounds of nature to sing with the dignity of the mountain and the majesty of the sea.

rise

Like countless times in the past, the silence of strings or the agitation of high notes are natural gifts. There has never been a trace of people stopping in my piano. I myself have become a dwarf pine on this mountain, and my voice is just a section of the nature concerto. Clouds don't like it, the moon sets without worry, ups and downs outside the body have become the rule, and I am also peaceful.

change

The mountains in the distance are like a belt, winding from one mountain to another mountainside. It was originally a border, blocking the world. However, you regard it as nothing, carrying a sickle, cutting down trees, and walking through the road. There are leaves all over the mountain, and you are just sweating for firewood. Why did you break my seven strings for no reason? You don't have to face my face, you can crack the code I wrote in my notes: majestic as a mountain! The ocean is like a river! You don't have to throw stones, a thousand waves are already surging.

and

You don't make any noise, but my piano is vivid because of you. Under my fingers, the stamens danced with dew, the sound of new birds was particularly clear due to the disturbance of morning light, and the stream jumped into 3,000 waterfalls due to the barrier of rocks. The peak under my seat is no longer a skyscraper, but my heart has opened up a higher clear sky for me, and my notes have become cranes running for their lives, floating like clouds. However, except for my fingers, all I can do is sit in awe and let it fly like a flag. Let you jingle behind you, knock out a simple and pleasant sandalwood cutting song, let you hesitate briefly, and let your footsteps step out of the valley in the long echo.

appointment

The reverberation is lingering, and the coming year can be expected. This time next year, I will play a song for you here, and you will understand the melody for me. There was a fixed order, and after that, Ye Huang Julia caught my attention. What I have to do is to move forward in turn, the derivative will continue to increase, and it will fall and wait for spring. Then you will come as promised, and we will continue a long story.

die

Another round of osmanthus yellow. Is that your steps don't cycle. At my feet, the vegetation has been full for a long time, and on the rocks, the welcoming pine has shed tears. And you are on the road of no return!

Go to Xi in the next issue! Go to Xi in the next issue!

If the east wind doesn't come, the spring breeze in March is as loud as a roar, and my fingers are as stiff as iron. Even though the seven strings are in good condition, my piano is completely aphasia. Those notes and birds returned to their nests, but those accumulated emotions began to wander all over the mountain and never returned to their seats. I am still the withered pine tree, but the difference is that the needles of pine needles are stuck in my heart. The dense fog is approaching step by step, and I can't break through the tight encirclement and fly over this sea of clouds like a boat, just like before.

cheque

After the kiss xiu, the mountain rose steeply. I can't despise the world. Give the melody back to the mountain, entrust my piano to the empty valley, let it break in April, and condense what I didn't have time to say and what I poured out into an eternal swan song, leaving it to the mountain, to the water and to me who can't take a curtain call.