When will you regain the dream of Jiangnan with you

After years later, who still remembers the shaking on the West Lake by the broken bridge and the gentle steps on green slabstone in the deep rain Lane? Where is the dream awake, who, holding the yellow poetry volume in the dream of Jiangnan recalling the red dust ardent love? Inscription

In the rainy afternoon, I held a volume of poetry books in my hand and sat alone near the window. I listened to the shaking sound of water from the music. My heart smelled the moist air gently and went directly to the Jiangnan water town, looking for the old dream in the smoky rain. In my impression, the Liu’an tobacco cage in the south of the Yangtze River is surrounded by water, and the ancient melodious melody flows slowly in the clear lake water. Today, my soul trampled on the breeze of June and lingered in the ancient town of Jiangnan. I couldn’t bear to leave. After years, the Jiangnan in the dream is still the attachment of my soul. The old white tile gray wall, Arch Bridge Pavilion, river stone steps, wooden posts corridors, paddle lights, water smoke waves, and mottled blue and white porcelain make my memory fresh, just as I first saw. In every day when I miss the South of the Yangtze River, I always borrow a wisp of misty mist to touch the ethereal dream, and then cut a piece of willow leaf with my hands, eliminating myself in the faint flute, as the wet wind sneaked into the south of the Yangtze River, when my fingers slipped across the moss on the Shek Pik, I said goodbye to the noise of the red dust, rolled up a sleeve of lilac of dark fragrance, sang and sighed in the distant tang poems/song phrases. Four hundred and eighty temples in the Southern Dynasty, how many buildings are in smoke and rain. With such a poem whispered, I would see such a picture in front of me: on the twenty-four th Bridge, a man in white, a man in the wind, a quiet blue wave of green lotus drunk by a pool of Xiao music, A woman in purple dress, dressing in the water, beautiful blue silk, drunk flowers on both sides of the road walking by the stone bridge, suddenly feel that the legend of the world is not far away, I clearly see, above the Broken Bridge, xu Xian and the white lady were in love with each other and looked at each other. Standing on the bank of the pillow water, listening to the deep and shallow comments in the distance, a little warmth, a little melancholy, a little longing to wander and ripple in my heart. The creaking voice made me listen to the footsteps of the front dust. I really want to borrow a curtain of smoky rain and a pot of yellow wine to make you drunk. How much is leisure worry? Yichuan tobacco, flying catkins all over the city, Plum yellow and rainy. Bent over and picked up a piece of red. I, singing and listening in the rain. Whose dream was crushed by the footsteps on green slabstone in the rain Lane? Who’s lonely when you step on it? How many fleeting monsoon winds have been sent away in the morning clock and evening drum? I have no way to ask. Today, the rain is as endless as it was in those days, but people don’t know where to go. Rain dripped on the tile and dropped in front of the window sill, falling into the missing sea and murmured. A paper of words bloomed with faded front, lost a river of clear water and rhythmic waves of light, whose eyes are sore? The smoke and rain are vast. Who is the watchman of this life? Whose lovesickness is crumpled by a gust of wind? The leaves are colorful, and whose flowers are messy? If one day, wearing a blue and white coat, a white dress and an oiled paper umbrella, I will not be trapped by love or melancholy for leaves to fall. I will walk leisurely in the smoky rain to pursue the long-lasting soul dream, what kind of beauty and romance should it be? Now, why can’t I find the peach garden in full bloom? In my dream, only the peach blossoms fell down one by one, and the peach blossoms fell to the ground into a butterfly, wet the lines of poetry and mottled the memory. On the Smoky River, thousands of sails are gone, and people are far away from the horizon. Smoke locks the buildings. When will you regain the dream of Jiangnan with you? The sound of Honghong broke across the desolate ferry and shattered the reflection of a river. This thinner Chiang-Nan misty rain Miles added a new sorrow. That year, you and I passed by Jiangnan, and you blew a curl sound with flute in your hand. The gentle and melodious string opened the ripples on the West Lake, and the night in Jiangnan was beautiful, which made my heart drunk. Since you left, all my dreams have been left in the south of the Yangtze River. The leaf Lanzhou that you and I crossed together has been lost in the drizzle like smoke since then. Today, I hold poetry books in my hands and my heart, and I am always unwilling to walk out of the misty rain in Southern. I really want to go back to the old land with you in the smoky rain, pick up the Jiangnan the left Dream, carry another Chinese bamboo flute, shake a light boat, take ten miles of Lotus wind, go down the river, follow the lotus fragrance, on bird tweet, all the way out of the window, the smoky rain is Misty, and I can hear your Xiao music curl up from the smoky rain, flat and flat, nine Qu ileal text \rain dance together qq 1904223318 Zan (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) phoenix mountain spring outing

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