Time is a wound, lying on the road from ancient times to the present, confused. Wretched eyes, pouring ripples. No turning, no wandering.
I like Yi Ru, and I like her "life is like the first time". The beauty and sadness of classical poetry are full of historical fragrance. From ancient times to the Ming and Qing Dynasties, the rain under the window of Xiao Xuan washed the buds in the corner, and the night was silent. Sign. So, on this quiet night, I want to write a poem for you.
Do you remember? Shen Yuan saw it. A kiss xiu, a look, a smile, dance for your son. I wanted to spend an instant, but unexpectedly, I spent my whole life. Remember, the moonlight is like frost, * * * enjoy the scenery of the bright moon and cool breeze. Unfortunately, I can't stand vicissitudes of life. Ten years have passed, but I still remember your smiling face. Is it because of this that this relationship will eventually be buried? I don't understand. I am not infatuated Tang Wan, nor Su Shi who loves Wang Fu deeply. I'm just a little girl in Xiaomei Garden. I just want to be in my plum garden. I just want to write poems for you.
It is the clear thinking of the rain hitting the banana, and it is the yearning for the candlelight night of cutting the west window; It's Yang Liuan, with all kinds of amorous feelings, and no one tells it. It is the green spring that fills the empty river. People can't help asking: The Fourth Army is old, why is the bus still late? If not, how could there be such a great song in the unprecedentedly prosperous Tang Dynasty? One after another is a historical habit, which cannot be removed or changed. If not, how could I meet Huo Xiaoyu's Juelie? Behind this kind of loneliness, I still want to believe that Li Yi loves her and loves her very much. If not, ten years after Wang Fu was buried, there will still be a Dongpo crying for her, and there is nowhere to go. To borrow a word: he lived up to expectations before his death, but after his death, he said he was lovesick and wrapped himself in gorgeous words. Such love is deep and pure. There is no vague substitution, no collateral entanglement. Love is like a relic, gold is perfect. Read "Jiangchengzi" and everything in Su Shi and my heart.
Every time I read Song Ci, I will see a stringed instrument player, bowing his head and lowering his eyebrows or feeling dejected during plucking. It is the rhyme of blue and white ancient porcelain, the wind of bamboo in the afternoon, and the embroidery of yarn. The beauty of the nine-curve heart often has nowhere to vent.
Calling you a Song Ci, I want to write a poem for you. So, is that okay? I am not a poet, but I want to express my feelings in such an appropriate way. It was no accident that I strayed into the depths of the lotus, and it was difficult to stir up a pool of European herons. It's just an emotion pulling the words in my heart and pen, which is messy or trivial, just like my life from the beginning to the present, which is so irregular.