Author: Qing Cao Xueqin Shabana flower fly sky, red incense off who pity? The silk is soft, the spring is fluttering, and the embroidery is put. The daughter in the middle of the bun, the squat is full of unlikely; the hand puts the flower embroidered, and let it go back to the flowers? Willow 榆 pods from Fang Fei, no matter the peach and Li Fei; Tao Li next year can send again, who knows who is in the next year? March Xiangchao is already solemn, the Liang Shanzi is too ruthless! Although the flowers will be caught next year, they don't want to go to the army empty nest. Three hundred and sixty days a year, the wind knife cream sword is strict; bright and fresh, it is difficult to find it. Hua opened is difficult to find, and the premium is bold to kill the flowers; alone with flowers, tears, sprinkles, sprinkle, empty branches. Duzhi is not a dusk, and the monotony is returned to the door; the green light is sleeping, and the cold rain knock window is not warmed. In the case of the slave, half an annoyance of half is half-annoyed: Pity is so angry, and there is no words. Yesterday, the court is full of sad songs, knowing that the soul and bird soul? The soul bird is always difficult, the birds are shy; if they are willing to bought their born, they fly to the sky. Heaven, where is there an Xiangqiu? Not if the kit is bone, a rumor is hidden; the quality is clean, and it is stronger than the sludge trap.尔 今 死 死 收, 未 卜 侬 身 日? I am a laughter, who knows whom? Try to see the spring residual flowers, it is the old dead; one is in the spring, the flowers are dead, I don't know!
