Plum blossoms in Jiangcheng attract monthly losses.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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Jiangcheng flew wildly last night. Birds are urging, and the orchestra is urging. It's a wild goose that can't go home.

Herons step on fragrant sand and bury leaves, the shore is windy, and willow smoke accumulates, which makes the moon lose.

Monthly loss, monthly loss, how to endure sadness. Love follows, but the heart pushes. Noisy also noisy, noisy enough, which dare to accompany.

Only in front of the lamp, the broken mirror shines on the moth's eyebrows. Everyone in a full-hearted love is drunk, so the cloud blames me, who to invite in the dream, chasing in the waves.

(2)

Jiang Hua is heartbroken.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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The breeze settled in the wild lotus pond. Dreams are wandering, birds are wandering. The night is leaving the soul, and the weaver girl looks forward to the cowherd.

It was the flute that invited the bright moon to get drunk, the desk was cold, the glass was cold, and it was heartbroken to drink.

Broken heart, broken heart, look at me hurt. The fish is messed up and the lights are messed up. Looking at it, I can't see through it, and the mirror is confused.

Only the heart of the piano stands beside the wicker. The hometown of Lanzhou flower has been buried, and there are two lines of tears in the cloud.

(3)

Jiang Huayin vinegar smoked vinegar smoked

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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Conan's dream fell into a crooked door. The moonlight is real, and the jade cup is real. The wind is blowing from the west building, most afraid of leaves.

Wild geese cross Qingchuan, flowing water is old, white sails are shaking, green waves are flowing, and balsamic vinegar is smoked.

Vinegar smoked, vinegar smoked, not gentlemanly. It's getting cold, and frost hits people. Sigh, sigh, sigh, I don't know why.

The sleeves are red, and the other side is floating clouds. Broken strings, broken flowers, trapped birds, exposed pendulums, dust fans, thin trees.

(4)

Jiang Mei Cheng Huayin huoshao huoshao

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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After Jiangcheng, it rained at night. Dreams are fluttering, tears are fluttering. No wonder the waves are rough.

Butterflies and geomantic omen look at each other, yellow smoke swings, Ziyun shakes, and bonfires burn.

Fire, fire, burning. Flowers fall, the soul is broken. Countless, countless, multiple stab wounds.

Sparrows are so weak that they are trapped in the cold wave. On the black moon, the eagle looks down, the plum blossom is thin, the locust withers, and the Du Ruo demon.

(5)

Plum blossoms in Jiangcheng lead to tears.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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The autumn wind sneaked through Yumen Pass. The trees are dead and the grass is dead. Dreaming of a dress, Jinse is unprovoked.

The moon is cold and flowers fly, the mirror is broken and the tears are dry.

Tears dry, tears dry, look at the screen. Flip your fingers and turn over the books. Read and read, read should not, broad-minded.

Chu Qiang, the folding fan is wrapped in cotton. Slow figure, cold tea, cold eyebrows and curved blades.

(6)

Jiangcheng Meihua sluice dike

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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The south of the building is soft and the grass grows. The moon comes from the west and dreams come from the west.

Exquisite ink case, Lou Yi outside the window. Dust provokes autumn wind to draw a sad fan, red flute to complain, purple fox to crow, fog to lock the embankment.

Lock the levee, lock the levee, and be afraid of pheasants. Bubble deception, tears cover up. I can't help it, I can't help it, and I am decisive.

Wine can make a beautiful woman, but it can fascinate a pervert. The bells of the ancient temple weep, the flowers will fall, the geese will go, and the willows will defeat the stream.

(7)

Plum blossoms in Jiangcheng are approaching and bumpy.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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The west wind surrendered to lock the autumn. Smoke from things, smoke from dreams. The night is confused, and the chrysanthemum shadow is dancing.

Cycas flowers rust, incense moves eastward, cranes move southward, and strangers jump.

Rough road, rough road, clouds come first. Butterflies fall in spring, and the moon falls on the shoulders. If you can't catch up, you can't catch up.

Ba Ren, a silent language partner, has a fleeting time. If it is difficult to see you again in this life, I want to fall down, love is speechless, and peacock is wronged.

(8)

Plum blossoms in Jiangcheng lead boating.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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Penglai is not a mirror building. The moon pushes the sorrow, and the bird holds the sorrow. First frost Yaochi, it's hard to vote for a letter.

The Hanshui River is lingering in the spring, the plum blossoms are hidden, the fragrance disappears, and the yan zhen is swaying.

Row, row until late autumn. The heart is stolen and the eyes are wasted. If you are drunk, you will be drunk and will not wake up.

White cranes return to their nests, but they are afraid of long dreams. The misty peach garden sails are old, the yellow tillers are withered, and the wisteria is closed, so I want to rest.

(9)

Jiang huachu

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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Moshan loves to bury East Lake in autumn. No waves, no geese. The sail hangs in the heart of the cloud, and love is on the road of dreams.

Stepping through the cold plum garden, red cherry blossoms, purple ding solitary, game moved.

Deodorization, Deodorization, blood has been lost. Flower ball, tobacco reed. Expecting, expecting, not expecting, wasting my fragrance.

I was injured last night, and strong tea cooled wine. I'm afraid that the wind at the end of the world will lock the road, the lights will be scattered, the moonlight will float, and the seas will dry up and the rocks will rot.

( 10)

Plum blossoms in Jiangcheng evoke dreams and startle dreams.

Text/Meng Han into a poem

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Mei Touxiang lies in the dark of autumn vine. Baqiao Cross, Yu Di Cross. Looking back, I fell in love with the Great Wall.

The wind at the bottom of the fan came through the clouds and rain, and the Chu building looked at it, and the Han street walked, and the butterfly dream was shocked.

Dream, dream, cicada cry. Curtain lights, window buckles. Cut, cut, cut, cross the sea once.

Wine makes a beautiful woman, but Luo Zhang is as cold as ice. And I am afraid that the dust will settle, hurt passers-by, get drunk with prostitutes and make the ring worse.