I may be drunk. Siping the past, there is still a life in this life, in the depth of the years. The sneer of the mouth of the mouth, the finger is still entangled around the feast of spring flowers. dream, branched in the cold autumn night. Take the grounds of Alin, like a lightman song of a iris flower. I read Qin Huai's song, such as the south of the willow, wet the skirt. ] Under the fall of Qingshan, I saw the scenery of the flying flowers in dusk. Shallow low singing days, stretching in the end of the season, like a sound spring. ] You said, look at Mei Bamboo and gradually become a disease. You said that I should be a dusk, and the time of the day, the spring seed is buried into the wet soil. Xu is the soul of the millennium, the dust of the lonely, buried into the soil, so that the plum has a bone and thin position. I have to say, I have fallen down at the moon, I fell into the infatuation. The hand of the moon, in the heart of the dream, the low-rise, the low-end poetry; in the autumn of Tongzi, the last scent of the fragrance is in the night sky; every ridiculous dusk, I have come up all the exhaustion. yes, the day is also for you, the night is also for you. You, can I take a bunch of wild white mountain flowers for me, woven a delicate flower clothes? On that night, all colors have complex into a season of autumn flowers. Wet text, always turned my feelings. There is also a cold moon color, let me stand on the peony in the Tang Dynasty, Chang'an's Red Lotus. Lightly pull long hair, smashing green, staring, the cloud shadow of the far drift. yes, I am drunk, drunk falling in autumn night after dusk.
