"Nine Machines"

A machine, it is easy to see when it is difficult to say goodbye, and it is easy to meet after goodbye. The sound is earnest, leaving the grievances in vain, and the building is Moyi.

Two machines, the winding forest whispered. Before the flower, the moon returns late. Thinking for a long time, lingering and forgetting, the flying magpie screams cold.

Three machines, between the peaks and mountains, the drunken flowers, the gentle murmur is affectionate. Long silky hair, a strand of lips, and blue water in the sky.

Four machines, Luo Sha wants to spread like a cloud, and the front of the curtain is gently called. The mind is deep, the jade lamp is dim, and the language is delicate.

Five machines, Hongyan is shy and rouge, and Qingyin spreads out the clouds. Xuan window silk rain, brocade clothes soft water, pay to sing poetry immortals.

Six machines, time flows and the New Year, fluttering snow and spring are infinite. Agarwood is curling, double sound isolation, and there are thousands of sorrows.

Seven machines, the smoke is far away and the tears are pouring down, and the wood carved beams and pillars are in the plum blossom hall. The moon falls on the flat bridge, the waves are shallow, and the courtyard moored the boat.

Eight machines, thick honey shines sleeplessly, and the euphemism returns to the flying geese. Tenderness arrives, looking back at the fetters, and the lonely shadow reflects the paper umbrella.

Nine machines, in the past, I thought about the silk strings, and I smiled when I met again. The scenery of the Chinese New Year, a little warmth, and the night is dark.

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