The orioles can't stop singing, and the words of the swallows are difficult to understand. This moment of sorrow has lasted for ten years, disturbing the spring breeze. The old friend is gone again, but he is still in the east of Yangliu Xiaolou. I remember that I painted the wall with the same title, but now the wall is broken and there is no trace.
Lan Gao is newly green and melting. The flow of hatred and falling flowers are red. Thinking of the tattered spring shirt, I was saying goodbye at that time, tailoring under the lamp. The longing for lovesickness is self-suffering, and counting the clouds and smoke will always be empty. The setting sun is boundless in the sky, sending off Feihong with a column.