Since ancient times, the northern wild goose flies south, the great river goes east, the wheel of history always rolls in, and the master has clouds: the deceased is like a husband, reluctant to give up day and night, it is this reason.

Life is in a hurry, such as a white horse passing through the gap, but a hundred years, suddenly, at a glance, it will be a vicissitudes of life, thousands of years of time, in the search for the original heart, the sound of the day and the smile, like a mirror, long to no longer the beginning.

At the beginning, the beginning of the sky, the beginning of the earth, has long been flying in the dark, nowhere to be seen, the heroes of the ancients have long been ancient, I want to learn from the ancients, to the wine as a song, praise love, what is the love?

Like the sun, like the moon, like the stars, they exist in the middle, but they don't see their hands. Invisible erodes bones, and it is difficult to think.

21 April 2016

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