Author: as white as a chrysanthemum

( 1)

Miss you, the spring breeze is ten miles. Love you, peach blossoms everywhere. Miss you, Jiangnan in February. I came to the village early, stood on tiptoe, cut the spring breeze, blew the wicker green and pushed the peach blossom away, just to have a grand meeting with you in spring!

Bloom, you are among the flowers. Butterfly, you are in the butterfly house. You are my flower that never fades every year. I am a butterfly that you won't get old for minutes. Flowers bloom for butterflies, and butterflies are intoxicated with flowers. I always feel that flowers are the past lives of butterflies, and butterflies are the old people of flowers. Otherwise, why hit it off at first sight?

Your thin hands touch the thin poem, the warm spring in bloom. You are charming in the flowers, spreading acacia all over the south of the Yangtze River.

Walking in the buildings in the south of the Yangtze River every day, reading ancient poems and watching the sun rise and set, there is always a touch of leisure. That carefree sorrow falls in the sound of water, like smoke. Floating in the rain rhyme, like fog. Meng Meng seems to be absent, so it's hard to be fired.

I always feel that there is a door in spring, just like a heart that loves you. It opens at once, and the green mountains and green waters are colorful, enchanting and beautiful, and the power of life pours out instantly. That feeling is that my head and face are spread out, and it can be described in two words, I think? Bury? . By spring? Bury? , is a happy thing. By love? Bury? , is the luck of countless misfortunes.

I know that the bright spring will grow old one day. All turquoise will fade. All flowers will eventually wither. But the heart that loves you will never grow old, nor will the spring in the poem, where the peach blossoms are brilliant, the spring is just right, and you are enchanting. Every word is full of love for you. Every word is full of deep affection for you. In the dead of night, when you gently hold these words, those beautiful things will drown you like the tide, which is my endless love and yearning for you.

Each line of words is a path. No matter where you start, you can meet me. Because in every sentence, I planted a peach blossom, and under the peach blossom tree, I have a lifetime of waiting. As long as you gently open it, there will be colorful flowers and rain, which will slowly fall, spread your long hair, fall over your long skirt, spread the path under your feet and take you into the depths of spring.

(2)

You are pure jade, bright flowers and white porcelain. You are a poetic woman and a gentle hometown. You are a beautiful poem, a silent word and a slow time. You are a painting, a feeling, a love that penetrates everything.

In this life, I just want to live in your heart and walk in poetry. You are the most beautiful sentence in the poem. I meditated in it, forgetting time and space and myself. Spring is the best time to read aloud. Loud and loud, like a bird in a book. So read and read, read eternity, read the end of time, until we bloom together into a lotus, quietly, in poetry, in words, in the depths of white clouds.

I often feel that there is a kind of woman who is my hometown. When you get close, you will feel very warm. That kind of warmth can't be described in words. There is also a woman who looks like Jiangnan, and her tenderness is engraved in her bones. Just like the spring in Jiangnan hometown, it is romantic and refined, and the seeds of flowers live there. Deep in the misty rain, a spring breeze passes by, and it is colorful and spreads into a spring scenery.

I also like such a woman, with mountains and rivers between her eyebrows and voiceless sounds between her lips. She opened quietly and became a lotus flower. Standing on the threshold of July, quietly facing that pool of lotus, you are all in my heart, you are every lotus, and every lotus is also you. In the summer afternoon, in the falling rain, the lotus is noisy. I know I love you very much. You love me too.

There is only you in the world of love, you come, I am here, you don't come, I am still here. The lotus in the pool blooms only for you. The lotus in my heart is only for you. I am in Jiangnan, writing ten-mile lotus flowers. In my dream, I read your name lightly, just waiting for you and looking back at me affectionately.

I like quiet and seclusion, and you also like to stay away from the mundane and noisy, and put our souls in a secluded place. It's time to push a cloud through the window and fill the door with flowers. As long as you sleep with the sound of water and say nothing, you and I will understand. You gave me the most silent address in the world, saying that it is the hometown of the soul. I walked along the path, only to find that it leads to your heart. The breeze is ten miles, the lotus is full of pools, the moonlight is falling, and the garden is full of fragrance.

Heart is a road to Taoyuan. I planted flowers on the roadside and sprinkled poems on the road. Because I know that the person I am waiting for will definitely come on foot. In order to meet you, I waited at the intersection for a thousand years. Please don't miss you too late. Because, you inadvertently missed it, and I have to wait for another thousand years!

Moonlight is like water Under the moon tonight, will you still remember what kind of spoony promise you and I made under the full moon flower? Life and death are rich and prosperous, and the son inherits it. Hold your hand and grow old with your son.

(3)

What kind of love is this? Such as lotus flowers shining on water, bright moon reflecting snow, jade is born with light smoke. Although illusory, it is beautiful. There is no fireworks, no dust, and people sit on the stone, and their hearts are clear. You are an unrealistic woman. I said, you are my faith. You said, I am your religion. The path is secluded in the fragrant wind, and the flowers are hidden in the shade. Who is the spring scenery in Mo Wen?

I often think that the best things in the world are love and religion. A person who converted from religion. Two people, into love. Lonely lamp green roll is a kind of beauty, adding fragrance to tea is a kind of romance. Many beautiful stories begin with love and end with religion. There are also many legends, starting with religion and ending with love. But no matter what it is, it is the purification and sublimation of the soul, such as mountains and rivers, the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon. Going to Qiu Lai in spring belongs only to nature.

You said you loved my words to the point of obsession. It was my words that took your soul. In fact, it is a kind of fate to meet a poem, a sentence, a paragraph and fall in love with a person's words irretrievably. Life has many reasons and many regrets. I always sigh that I met you late, and that hate is like the tears of pear flowers after rain, cool and warm, with the temperature of thousands of years ago. In that temperature, there is love, poetry and stories, refusing to grow old.

In this life, you are my poem. I will never get tired of reading you a thousand times. I always feel ecstatic when I hold it in my heart I like to be slow. I can't write a poem in my life. Walking slowly from one word to the next is like starting from a spring, experiencing countless storms and quietly entering autumn. From one sentence to the next, I always feel that mountains and water are separated, and clouds and smoke are separated. It is necessary to experience and love with a lifetime of deep affection.

Low eyebrows, peach blossoms. Look up, deep in the clouds. The heart will remember your tenderness, your kindness and your beauty. Time is getting older, mountains and rivers are getting older, but peach blossoms are still there, running water is still there, white clouds are still there, and we are still writing our poems. So slow love, so quiet thinking, just like the blue and white flowers in porcelain, only through the burning of fire and painful suffering can we shake the world and surpass the beauty of the world.

You like to keep your eyebrows low, not make public, not indulge, and quietly open into a lotus flower. Sitting opposite you is like facing a pool of lotus flowers, with faint fragrance and pink posture. You can only look at it from a distance, but you can't play with it. There is a nobleness in the corner of your eyes and eyebrows. Quietly enter the depths of each other's souls, calm and undisturbed, but every breath, every heart, every heart is for you.

Lonely, sublime, unknown. Who knows that your mind quietly blooms into a lotus flower in the afternoon, graceful, quiet and dust-free, and you have exhausted your life's acacia and love. People say butterflies are flying flowers. No beautiful butterfly can fly over the sea. One tears, one dances alone, one is lonely, and one dies. I just want to hold you in my heart, hold your warmth and feel your heartbeat in the deepest part of the world of mortals.

Quietly, I annihilated the dust, faded away the glitz, dressed in a blue shirt and holding a paper fan, waiting to bloom on the waterfront of time. The lake in the afternoon is lonely, and the lotus after the rain is quiet. Sitting alone in a pavilion is like sitting in the depths of loneliness In the lotus leaf field, lotus flowers are noisy, and only in this extreme silence will they feel extremely moving. I just think that every lotus is you.

(4)

There are flowers on your lips, and there is wind between your eyebrows. You are not tired of reading it a thousand times. There is a clean heart and a Leng Xiang at the bottom of the sleeve, like a pot of wine between flowers. You haven't tasted it for a long time. Drunk is drunk. You'd rather stay drunk than wake up!

You are in my eyes and I am in your heart. I am in your blood and you are in my bones. You are my flower and I am your spring mountain after the rain. I am your shore wind and you are my pillow moon. You give me a flower and I'll give you a white cloud. I send you a Jiangnan, and you send me a spring. You and I will meet in the afterlife, and I will accompany you in this life. I am your white, and you are my China.

We will build a warm home where things can't reach. Don't ask about life and death, don't talk about sadness and joy, don't talk about cause and effect, whether it's fate or disaster. I just want to love you sincerely in the world of mortals. Miss you, regardless of heaven and hell. Love you, knowing that it is a life-and-death robbery, but also a moth to the fire. I want nothing but you. With our souls, in the spiritual home, we will know each other, love each other and cherish each other until the end of time.

Pray for the Buddha to give me a tear of pity and let me retire in this tear. Lotus is happy, mixed with sorrow and joy. In this world, I don't want to be rich, brilliant or immortal. I just want you. I am willing to bear the joys and sorrows of life, as long as I have a beautiful encounter with you in the depths of the world of mortals.

Meditate in time, meditate in time, only look at you, not the Buddha. I always feel that you are a Buddha and the Buddha is you; You are Lian, and Lian is you. I love you so quietly, without a trace of dust. The temple of the soul, where you live like a lotus flower, dedicating love and truth to you devoutly.

A rain, the rain in the south of the Yangtze River, falls on the wet ground, in the eyes and in the heart. We are in misty rain and blue flowers. In life, there is always such a misty rain that falls into a paradise and becomes a pure land. In misty rain, bloom became a poem, and Ye grew into a word. In the fleeting rhythm, we are even and elegant, singing like a song. Stone lane painting bridge, white wall tiles, a blue shirt, a cheongsam, an oil-paper umbrella, walk hand in hand, just for flowers, just for love.

You are a misty poem, and I am a sentence in your poem. You are a flower, and I am a chapter in the word. Write peach blossoms one after another, write lotus flowers one after another, and then sit quietly in the book, sitting in the water, you read me, I read you, snuggle up, grow old, grow old.

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