Qinghe

I still remember that the Spring Festival bloomed beautifully that year. The garden is full of flying ten years, The welcome of spring has not changed, I stand on the gray tower, Looking down at the lions that trampled across Donghua, Clothes are flying, Your armor burned with blood, The setting sun is like blood, The cool spring breeze is blowing, Blowing my broad sleeves, Look, The Spring Festival is blooming again, I turned around, With a smile on his lips, It is a golden horse and an iron horse, It's just that things are different and people are different. The smoke and rose branches are always wrong, wrong, wrong. Qionglou Yuyu is ultimately empty, empty, empty. It is better to laugh drunkenly for a hundred years and not care about the hardships of the world. PS This is an essay