The clouds and mist are flying lightly, the curtain is covered with music and the dew is beautiful, the soul of the lost city is slightly cherished, and the old castle exhales and sighs. Yesterday, during the battle in the red desert west, I saw the black sand curtained the sky, the wind suddenly picked up and the swords were at war, and the smoke disappeared under my bright eyes.
Wearing flower crowns on our heads, looking out the window, the rhythm of the south of the Yangtze River is reflected in our hearts. The grass in the garden is lying on the ground, ready to sleep, and the water waves are gently moving around. As we walk together, we pray for eternity, and then we can cross the berth together, and the sound of paddling is as sad as a song.