The merchant ginseng on the fortress is in its prime, a silhouette of the past, but now the water should flow eastwards.
The horses on the side are chirping, the lone wild goose is chirping, and the harp and zither are moving sadly.
Snow has fallen all over the river and the continent, and the frost is biting on the cold fur. The setting sun once promised to look back, where is the Chinese sound so high and far away from the south and the north?
Nine beats are a waste of nostalgia for the old days, and I am also a prisoner in this place where I lost my family. Passing the mountain crossing, climbing high buildings, Hu Han, nostalgic, throws a golden hook.
The sun in the east and the moon in the west look at each other in sorrow, why bother to write "Li Ou" to Xuan?
Yanyun sixteen, the deepest is Jiyou.
Conception: