The air outside the window was colder, the cool breeze passed through the uncovered door, opened the long unread book on the coffee table, and the tea made with green plums remained warm. I do n’t know when I fell in love with the text of this winter, As if it came from April in the world, with the clear wind and rain, and the poetry rhyme of Tang poetry and Song poetry came quietly ...
The distant mountains are endless, the green smoke is endless, the mountains and rivers are interdependent, and the sun and the moon alternate. This beautiful green color, with poetic decoration, is more beautiful and engraved in the words. I like poetry, and I like to hide words in my heart. Although I can't write gorgeous words to describe the beauty of the world, there is no poet-like talent to describe the warmth and coldness of the world, and some are only brewed in my heart, just like my own wine. Will pour a cup to taste, and enjoy a person's Ukiyo.
The ancients walked alone in the words, letting prosperity flourish like the next generation, planting chrysanthemums in their hearts, leisurely contentment, like a fairy, raising a glass to invite the moon, enjoying the wine, and admiring Li Bai's "Born by nature, we will be useful. Come "domineering and bold; envy Wang Bo's" Long Dang Yi Zhuang, would you rather know the heart of the white head? Poor and strong, do not fall into the cloud of the clouds "Ling Ling's aspirations, but times have changed, in this bright world, more of a car and a horse Formerly, the old dead flower wine room, and the great people and words that can make us impassioned, can only go along the lines in the book to find, slowly and carefully understand the taste!
There is loneliness and companionship in the text, but more is waiting. How old is old, waiting for the people who are with us to watch the flowers and watch the moon, strum the strings, but the green is easy to grow, and the bamboo horse is hard to find. The waiting days are like The inexhaustible text was difficult to read. Later, we had to take a look at it, and gradually drowned in the downtown area of the world. We were afraid to read the poems of the thousand chapters again, for fear of stopping somewhere on the page, leaving with bitterness.
Time is constantly flowing, and the appearance of words is still the same. In fact, life is like the words in poetry, sad and happy, wrong and right, intermittent!
I don't know if you also love the wind in this winter, much like your long-lost breath!
I wonder if your complaint is joy or worry, whether it is still in the season when I do not understand you!
I wonder if you are still waiting, waiting for familiar and strange tourists!
It's late, and I will send you a few words in the winter, I hope you sleep peacefully ...