The twilight is getting deeper, and people are going to tea to cool down.

Last night, the rain was sparse and the wind was sudden, and the sycamore leaves fell, just like duckweed without roots, and the half-life lonely cloud and wild crane.

The ink is stained with vulgar dust, the withered maple is curled horizontally, and the green stele gnaws on the moss. Looking back suddenly, I only sighed, although the river was warm and hot, the frost was cold, and the soul was not young.

The lamp-bearer covered the Xuanzhang with a red robe, stroking the Lancang with a broken finger, and a long sorrowful ape, just like the remnants of the mountains, the hangover does not return, and the old wine is three or two.

The paper language Buddha is pure in front of it, and it is close to the copy, the sound of the wooden fish knocks on the prophecy between the hearts, the eyebrows are rippling in Qiongtan, and the moonlight in the cup is rippling.

"The Vicissitudes of Enlightenment in a Life", is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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