In the south of the Yangtze River in March, in March, the city is full of smoke and rain into spring, hazy and picturesque, but the drizzle is drifting, all like a dream! But the mountain, the water, and the people have been stained with too many dreams, and it seems that now, they have all been dull. So, calm me, I don't know who the clear shadow in the cup is? I'm at a loss, I don't know who the text is dyed for?

Spring dreams are scattered with the clouds, and flying flowers are flowing by water. Heart palpitations have crept away, where to find sorrow? I don't know if this poem and this sentence have written down thousands of words in my heart at this moment!

I don't know if I'm too immature, or I'm too at a loss in the face of this society! So, there are always ups and downs emotionally. Is this like what I once wrote: Flowers bloom and flowers rain feast, and how many people are scattered in the empty building? The heart is full of relief, and the moon is alone. Autumn goes to spring to willow silk, who can you know about the old place next year? Waving his hand, there is only sorrow left, and he endures stepping on the falling flowers and watching the water. And everything else, is it like this, like waking up like a dream, a brief reunion, but falling with the wind! I finally understood that life, dreams, are just dreams, and they can't replace reality.

Counting carefully, yesterday, there was always some expectation, but it was dull for no reason. They have all had youth, they have all had willfulness, who remembers how much warmth there is? Once, a season of clear dreams swirled around my heart, and thousands of feelings were full of words, so I let go of my heart. The petal raindrop weaving makes the dream drunk, and the silk fragrance enters the heart, so that my love begins. But in the end, the grass is spring to watch the world, and the fine willow silk falls into the heart of autumn, so that my dream is gone. So, sometimes, I don't understand, why many people say that they value feelings, okay! But in the end, it is always yourself who is hurt, there is nowhere to hide tears, but there are no tears to shed! Left, the rain of broken hearts, helplessly beating on the window lattice, is this again, once written on that lonely rainy day: the rain falls endlessly, the slightest bit of coolness in the heart. The light splash magnolia is swaying, sad and lonely guessing. Therefore, now, after stumbling and bumping, I realized that dreams and reality are not in the same world, and the words are true, but they do not necessarily represent changes suitable for this social trend! So, don't blame others for being indifferent, just because there are too many scenes in reality. Don't blame others for being cold, just because there are too many scars in feelings.

Once, I never understood a sentence in Bai Juyi's "Song of Long Hatred": Affection has been empty since ancient times, and this hatred is endless. Now, I understand, but I regret it! But it was too late, too late! Therefore, now I don't dare to give easily emotionally, because I am afraid that my broken heart will turn into ashes!

Listening to Lin Junjie's Jiangnan, it reminds me a lot, but I don't know how to say it? Once, I wrote down in an essay: Ink and Danqing is Jiangnan, the bluestone alley meets, the soft wattle is smeared and loves the dream, who can go back to the Yangliuhe? Talented and beautiful women are good stories, paving a few winding love strings, ancient and modern literature and ink Jiangnan Fu, and endless words flow through the ages. Dreaming of the south of the Yangtze River is like a picturesque place, like smoke and fog and illusion, the beauty is drunk and beautiful like a dream, and the long hair is leisurely and pitiful. Swaying fragrant step lotus, low eyebrows and shallow smile hook heartstrings, the wind is light and silent, light and elegant. People know the meaning of water in the south of the Yangtze River, geese sweep Jinling to find old friends, ten miles of lotus pond can not be seen, arch bridge pillow water can not be finished. The winding path leads to the secluded alley and is long, and the shadow wanders the most, attracting the begonia to scatter the stamens, and the West Lake is scattered to read the peony. On the moonlit night of the twenty-four bridges, the wind is soft under the moon before the flowers, the clear and cool leisure place, and the moon in the water plays spring and autumn. It was the smoke and rain in March, Qin Lou was Xiao Xiao at night, and the green willows outside the window rose with the wind, hesitating who was in love with the red dust? Yang Liu is still in the know, Xiaoqiao is light and thinking about flowing water, the moon is lacking and the full moon is always there, and he is drunk and forgets his feelings. Therefore, now, in my spare time, I have become a tourist in the red dust, intoxicated with the scenery of the south of the Yangtze River, wandering between the green mountains and green waters, watching the pink walls and tiles hooking the fence, folding the green willows and red peaches flying flowers, and fading away the hazy mood of the city full of smoke and rain, but I don't know this, is it good or bad?

A page of poetry, a few old words, outlining the past years like the wind. Waiting for the free companion, half inkstone, who can write the drizzle in the south of the Yangtze River? A little nostalgic, is the joy of the past still there? Have you ever forgotten a memory? However, now, the depressed mood makes me feel a little helpless. This may be a kind of wandering, a kind of confusion, but there is no real reason to be found.

The ink and blue are still there, and the clouds are with each other several times. Leaving endless thoughts in vain, who is the same as the rippling heart? Wandering lonely drifting into dreams, shaking

Trolling is easy to be emotional. The green mountains are still not old, and the rain falls on the blue lake. Love comes to willow branches to perch on high geese, and love to go to flowers and fly in vain. Listening to the love song, I have no intention of crying. A fennel tastes all kinds of flavors, and the world blooms with thousands of flowers. The title of the poem is a flow of water, and the pen is free of wind and rain. Hongchen, that's it, but how many people can see through and see through?

Many times, I am looking for it, but for some reason, I have a dream in my heart, and it is difficult to give up. The red dust settles, and the reflection is mottled for a lifetime. The dream shadow haunts the soul, but who is speechless for a lifetime? Listen quietly near the water, and the strings of the piano are broken. Therefore, the wind passes without a trace, the leaves fall without stopping, and the dazed years are another season. Three fireworks, a blur, can you look back? The love is deep and shallow, but it is amorous, whose dream is broken? Years have passed, the past is recalled, whose soul has been broken? Joys and sorrows are unpredictable, a curtain of spring rain is separated, waiting in the haze, silent, so that I can't see clearly, I can't understand. This may be because my heart at this time is too dazed, and I don't know what else to look forward to in this life emotionally. Perhaps, the naïve me, disappointed in the relationship, found that everything was not as beautiful as I once imagined. Even, for some people, dispensable, just a regulator of loneliness.

A leaf of the heart boat is unmanned, wandering back in the wind and rain, a loss is endless, when will it return? Even if you lie to yourself and say: "Flying flowers are like dreams, love and hate follow the wind, prosperity is like dust, and eventually the clouds will disappear, and things are not people." But in the depths of the years, the wind and rain are miserable, looking for it in the gaps of time, but the years have passed, so I have drifted with the wind and drifted season after season. I have no choice but to drink cold wine and look down on the world! Although it was not my intention, it was the best choice in desperation!

Therefore, even if it was once, dreams, beautiful women are as tender as water, and smiles like flowers. Looking back, but too, the heart has been quiet, and the dream does not know where to go? This may be because today is not yesterday, dreams are not the beginning, you can go back to the past, but you can't go back to the beginning. It can really be said that the three lives are uncertain, and the sorrow is frequently added. Or perhaps, I once laughed at myself: I am dusty, red dust past, a thousand realms are sinking, but I am amorous and passing away! Looking back on a dream, it's all the same, drinking alone with the shadow, drunk and not waking up!

The leisure is light and ink, outlining the past, but it is difficult to resist the coldness of the passing years. Fate is always there, I don't want to return to the dust, the clouds are gone, a curtain of dreams and fragrance, lingering in the heart like water, passing away from the shadow, forgetting the prosperity and withering, all are thin. Origin dreams are extinguished, like clouds gathering and scattering. There are thousands of changes, loneliness stretches, dreams wake up, the song ends, and people scatter!

Looking at the breeze and dancing the moon, the rhyme of the words falls into the heart, and the light singing is shallow, but it can't tell the prosperity of the past, and I can't forget the breath of the broken dream. It's like the drizzle in the south of the Yangtze River, and the wandering in March is like a dream! In the end, it's just a boring memory!

The moss is still there, the drizzle is in the south of the Yangtze River, and it is wandering in the displacement. Time flies, three lives are dreaming, but it's hard to say! Dreaming of March rain in the south of the Yangtze River, the wind blows at night and lets Xiao Xiao shine. Once wandering and hard to find, when can Shaohua dream be? In this way, I don't know, such a mood, who else can I find it for now?

Perhaps, when the dream is buried in the smoke and rain of the south of the Yangtze River, after the heart is broken, you should understand that love is like the fickleness of the wind and clouds. Therefore, we must learn to forget, learn, and not take it seriously.

Perhaps, I never really understood what love was, and everything before that was just wishful thinking on my part. So, now, there is only one stupid me left, and I am still adrift season after season in this rainy night. But I don't understand, sincere love, whether it is, really, can only be a dream

In the south of the Yangtze River in March, in March, the city is full of smoke and rain into spring, hazy and picturesque, but the drizzle is drifting, all like a dream! But the mountain, the water, and the people have been stained with too many dreams, and it seems that now, they have all been dull. So, calm me, I don't know who the clear shadow in the cup is? I'm at a loss, I don't know who the text is dyed for?

Spring dreams are scattered with the clouds, and flying flowers are flowing by water. Heart palpitations have crept away, where to find sorrow? I don't know if this poem and this sentence have written down thousands of words in my heart at this moment!

I don't know if I'm too immature, or I'm too at a loss in the face of this society! So, there are always ups and downs emotionally. Is this like what I once wrote: Flowers bloom and flowers rain feast, and how many people are scattered in the empty building? The heart is full of unrelieved feelings, and the love is broken

Rest alone. Autumn goes to spring to willow silk, who can you know about the old place next year? Waving his hand, there is only sorrow left, and he endures stepping on the falling flowers and watching the water. And everything else, is it like this, like waking up like a dream, a brief reunion, but falling with the wind! I finally understood that life, dreams, are just dreams, and they can't replace reality.

Counting carefully, yesterday, there was always some expectation, but it was dull for no reason. They have all had youth, they have all had willfulness, who remembers how much warmth there is? Once, a season of clear dreams swirled around my heart, and thousands of feelings were full of words, so I let go of my heart. The petal raindrop weaving makes the dream drunk, and the silk fragrance enters the heart, so that my love begins. But in the end, the grass is spring to watch the world, and the fine willow silk falls into the heart of autumn, so that my dream is gone. So, sometimes, I don't understand, why many people say that they value feelings, okay! But in the end, it is always yourself who is hurt, there is nowhere to hide tears, but there are no tears to shed! Left, the rain of broken hearts, helplessly beating on the window lattice, is this again, once written on that lonely rainy day: the rain falls endlessly, the slightest bit of coolness in the heart. The light splash magnolia is swaying, sad and lonely guessing. Therefore, now, after stumbling and bumping, I realized that dreams and reality are not in the same world, and the words are true, but they do not necessarily represent changes suitable for this social trend! So, don't blame others for being indifferent, just because there are too many scenes in reality. Don't blame others for being cold, just because there are too many scars in feelings.

Once, I never understood a sentence in Bai Juyi's "Song of Long Hatred": Affection has been empty since ancient times, and this hatred is endless. Now, I understand, but I regret it! But it was too late, too late! Therefore, now I don't dare to give easily emotionally, because I am afraid that my broken heart will turn into ashes!

Listening to Lin Junjie's Jiangnan, it reminds me a lot, but I don't know how to say it? Once, I wrote down in an essay: Ink and Danqing is Jiangnan, the bluestone alley meets, the soft wattle is smeared and loves the dream, who can go back to the Yangliuhe? Talented and beautiful women are good stories, paving a few winding love strings, ancient and modern literature and ink Jiangnan Fu, and endless words flow through the ages. Dreaming of the south of the Yangtze River is like a picturesque place, like smoke and fog and illusion, the beauty is drunk and beautiful like a dream, and the long hair is leisurely and pitiful. Swaying fragrant step lotus, low eyebrows and shallow smile hook heartstrings, the wind is light and silent, light and elegant. People know the meaning of water in the south of the Yangtze River, geese sweep Jinling to find old friends, ten miles of lotus pond can not be seen, arch bridge pillow water can not be finished. The winding path leads to the secluded alley and is long, and the shadow wanders the most, attracting the begonia to scatter the stamens, and the West Lake is scattered to read the peony. On the moonlit night of the twenty-four bridges, the wind is soft under the moon before the flowers, the clear and cool leisure place, and the moon in the water plays spring and autumn. It was the smoke and rain in March, Qin Lou was Xiao Xiao at night, and the green willows outside the window rose with the wind, hesitating who was in love with the red dust? Yang Liu is still in the know, Xiaoqiao is light and thinking about flowing water, the moon is lacking and the full moon is always there, and he is drunk and forgets his feelings. Therefore, now, in my spare time, I have become a tourist in the red dust, intoxicated with the scenery of the south of the Yangtze River, wandering between the green mountains and green waters, watching the pink walls and tiles hooking the fence, folding the green willows and red peaches flying flowers, and fading away the hazy mood of the city full of smoke and rain, but I don't know this, is it good or bad?

A page of poetry, a few old words, outlining the past years like the wind. Waiting for the free companion, half inkstone, who can write the drizzle in the south of the Yangtze River? A little nostalgic, is the joy of the past still there? Have you ever forgotten a memory? However, now, the depressed mood makes me feel a little helpless. This may be a kind of wandering, a kind of confusion, but there is no real reason to be found.

The ink and blue are still there, and the clouds are with each other several times. Leaving endless thoughts in vain, who is the same as the rippling heart? Wandering lonely and drifting into dreams, swaying green and easy to feel. The green mountains are still not old, and the rain falls on the blue lake. Love comes to willow branches to perch on high geese, and love to go to flowers and fly in vain. Listening to the love song, I have no intention of crying. A fennel tastes all kinds of flavors, and the world blooms with thousands of flowers. The title of the poem is a flow of water, and the pen is free of wind and rain. Hongchen, that's it, but how many people can see through and see through?

Many times, I am looking for it, but for some reason, I have a dream in my heart, and it is difficult to give up. The red dust settles, and the reflection is mottled for a lifetime. The dream shadow haunts the soul, but who is speechless for a lifetime? Listen quietly near the water, and the strings of the piano are broken. Therefore, the wind passes without a trace, the leaves fall without stopping, and the dazed years are another season. Three fireworks, a blur, can you look back? The love is shallow, but it is amorous........

https:

Keep in mind that the first domain name :.com this book. The mobile version of the mobile version of the wonderful book house is :.com