I don't think I'm gently, just as I gently came; I gently waved, don't make a good cloud. The Jinliu on the river is the bride in the sunset; the Yan Ying's Yan Ying, in my heart. Qingyu on the soft mud, oil oil in the waterstock; in the soft wave of the Kang River, I will be willing to make a water grass! The one-pool under the shade of the shade is not Qingquan. It is the sky of the sky, and the rainbow dreams are deposited. Dream? Support a long-awaited, more green to grass, full of a boat, and sing songs in the stars. But I can't sing songs, quietly 笙; the summer fmer is also silent for me, and silence is the Kangqiao tonight. I quietly left, as I came quietly; I waved a sleeve, didn't take a cloud.
