On a snowy day in spring, the red plum blossoms stand out like a charm.
The passion of youth, the pounding of the heart, is not the lingering love, the intoxication of youth, a handful of old times, the bright smile, has nothing to do with love.
In the boudoir house, in the blooming season, my sister's choice and forbearance, and the wisps of smoke suddenly blurred. When we stay together like this, when we look up, we only see the narrow four-cornered sky.
Her talent remains the same, one leaf falls, several autumns, she leans alone against the building in the south of the Yangtze River
Now I recall Jiangnan music, when I was young and had a spring shirt,
Dreaming about Yanshui Road in Jiangnan,
Traveling all the way to the south of the Yangtze River, I never met anyone who was away from me.