The threshold is stained with green, the clouds are shining brightly in the morning rain, and the sun is setting towards the evening. The lights on the long street were dim, the cold wind blew into my sleeves, and I sighed silently with tears in my eyes. Looking back, the long night is long and the corners of the wall are mossed.
The dew is heavy and the flowers fall to sleep in the tomb, complaining but saying that spring is far away. There is no place to wait for the dawn, the moon is rising, and the glass lamp should be there. A hundred turns turn into mourning, and the broken strings and lovesickness turn into illness. One word to express the uneasiness, who can pity Bo Liang?
After all the splendor, the peach blossoms remain the same, where can the old friend return?
In an instant, for whom the beauty is put on makeup, everything comes to life at the snap of a finger.