Under the bodhi tree, the dream is heartbroken. On the bridge, you can drink Meng Po's soup. In a blink of an eye, the old cruel immortal in the end of the world has become a smoke in the sky. Does the immortal who doesn't eat fireworks live in the mountains? How many drops of turbid tears were you hurt by the wind and snow? I engraved your name on the Sansheng stone in the past life, wiped the red tears from the corner of your eyes, and spent the Sansheng LiuNian with a residual lamp. The wind disturbed the bronze bell under the eaves. Like a lamp core before Buddha turned into the red rope of the moon, the yearning of thousands of turns was chanting the LiuNian. The shepherd boy rode on the Yellow bull to blow the shepherd's flute horizontally. The roots of the old tree where the horse's hoof stepped were in the rolling red dust Another ring of rings, the time wasted once ignorant of the heart, wake up, the window lingering light melancholy, that is the deep Acacia? Or lonely in my heart? Memories of finding you in the overlapping green leaves and red flowers, the lotus pond has been intoxicated for thousands of years, a pair of sleeping mandarin ducks are intoxicated in the mountains and waters, the years are like a knife to cut off thousands of strands of sorrow, the quiet and indifferent years also have an unstoppable spirit, she sat dead all night, waiting for the return of the people outside the world. I broke the glass lamp by mistake, but the fleeting years brought a few wisps of starlight. The youth without autumn frost drew a picture of dreams. The poets and poets fell heavily. A poem that shocked the world and wept for ghosts and gods aroused countless passers-by. A bright moon turned the thoughts back into a river. Is the sacrifice in the pagoda the spirit of flowers of the past? Wandering in the Jianghu, carefree is a supreme realm. The long cherished wish of the world of mortals in this life caused memories to become sorrows. In the wind and snow, the first thought is still the same. The snow, the moon, the wind and the flowers have washed away the noise of the world of mortals, such as the bloody sun, which has dyed a sunset glow, and the stars in the dusk are touching people's nostalgia. She looks back and smiles, six palace powder is colorless, young and frivolous all have arrogant years, the memory of the sky roars from the sky, xiaofengcanyue, Yuehua Qingleng, Jianjia in the wind In the old age, wandering in the endless years, the dream is like a dream, leaving only a person with elegant figure. Holding an oil paper umbrella and meeting with the red face by the broken bridge in the south of the Yangtze River, sorrow and hesitation turn into a delicate fragrance, immersed in the clear wind and the bright moon, playing a piece of water against the moon for a long time, the golden age, who confides in you? The boundless world of mortals, a pot of wine and bitterness and so on are reincarnated. It's better to pursue fame and fortune than to be intoxicated. One's military uniform is dyed with blood, and one's character is still cool. He asks about the affairs of floating life, but a bustling confusion. The jade dew and nectar brewed for several generations are swallowed like tears. In ancient times, there were bridges and streams, listening to the flowers.
