Author: Zhang Xueyong
The sparkling summer is good, and the rain falls and the dusk is drunk. Who understands the joy and prosperity? Spring goes to summer, and time is missing.
If the heart becomes a poem, every encounter is a time amazing, and every displacement is an encounter in the poem. Who put the green silk to the gray hair? Who runs the world's end of the world acacia scissors?
The years fade away, and the loneliness guards the end of the world. A rain, the past fell into view. A trace of thought, drunk for the past few years, and stupid. I'm on the shore of time, drinking a pot of old wine, waiting for an old thought.
A season of smoke and rain, stranded for a passing year, whose fingertips are running horses? Whose dreams have been met in a hundred years? One stroke is smeared, and one stroke is beautiful. Life is all fateful, and the reincarnation of red dust is seen.
If the heart becomes a painting, a thin pen should also engrave the most beautiful years. A drop of ink is a memory of the years, and a page of paper is a look back on the past. A wind and snow, looking through the autumn water and the long sky.
You are the northern country of dreams, and you are the world of fireworks. Three acres of flower fields in midsummer, you are a pond lotus fairy. Drunken Forest Spring, Peach Blossom Spring, Words and Moon, Turbulent Year.
Time is amazing, rain is in mind. Acacia spreads between the eyebrows, and a long song flows. The shadows are chaotic, the dreams are fluttering, and the alleys are falling and the flowers are listening to the rain.
A farewell to lovesickness, a farewell to the years of thinness. The marriage of the past life, the encounter in this life. It's joy to see each other, don't be resentful, the long wind gusts, and remember the south of the Yangtze River.
Time is pale and waiting without regrets, and the years mock the obsession of the past. Half a lifetime of love, a journey of smoke and rain, and the time of suspension is blooming in loneliness.
The pen and ink of time, whose sorrow has been desolate? Whose tranquility is drawn? If you look up, you will see my smile, and if you wait, I will come step by step.
Time is amazing, rain is in mind. Standing on the crowded streets, only the eyebrows and eyes of lovesickness remain.