The good dream is over now. It was blown away by the east wind and the fierce religion, and the smoke from the medicine stove, even if the beautiful city is still there, the past glory is gone. I must recall the sadness of half my life. The cold man on the twelfth floor has thin temples. There is no such sad place in the world. The hairpin is a small promise, and the regret is lightly abandoned.
Who will send the vast blue falling sound? In what year, we draw our stockings on the fragrant steps, and lean together at night. After cherishing Wei Lang's illness, there is no way to eliminate all feelings, it is just for personal confidants. According to the promise, under the new moon, the sound of bamboo sounds, the old mountains and rivers are filled with cuckoos. When the cock is far away, the jade flute rises.
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Author's announcement: I really like everyone's comments ~ It doesn't matter whether you are different or not ~ the important thing is popularity
Everyone, give me more water~Don't just ignore it~Oh yeah~