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More sad, beautiful signature about cherry blossoms, preferably in classical Chinese, seeking originality.
Time flies, two worlds of time and space. The bluegrass in the ink is full of incense in the West Building, and the inkstone is still there. Do you remember? The lingering riverside is waiting, blue and inky.

Cooking on the platform, snowdrift in the wilderness, staying under Yan Yan's eaves, returning to the flowers, a rain in Bai Mei, dancing with cold elements, and Hu Qin Ma Xiao chicken has been reincarnated. Who did you say goodbye to?

The setting sun on the shore, the scales are shaking slightly, the wind blows the willows, the gazebo is impermanent, the candle is frosty, the couch is cold, and the chrysanthemums are full of windows.

The smoke waves are vast and light, and the old garden traces the rain corridor. Beautiful autumn rhyme, chrysanthemum yellow. Tonight, the piano is playing and singing, and there is only a faint fragrance.

That beam of light and shadow is a familiar beauty, a solidified ending and a dream of the past. Small traces of ancient buildings are like your softness, and you are the only one looking for light and shadow in the faint bamboo forest.

Books are good, messy and boring; Look at the fence, the stream is thin, and listen to the flute; September rain, blue boat memories, dreams; Lonely, accompanied by rain, hometown.

Red candle tears, push the cup for a change, think about the sky; A leisurely flying butterfly, the dust of a lifetime, the return of swallows, the theme of February, so the lotus; Recalling the hidden pavilion moon, tears soaked in gauze curtains, green tea mourning, people wandering, in front of the tomb.

In March, Fei Ying grass grows, countless pairs; The fragrance of jasmine in May has endless historical vicissitudes; On both sides of the small bridge in July, there are endless water towns; The misty rain in September is cool and there are endless regrets.