Sitting quietly on the moon, smiling

A solitary lamp, a cup of clear, a piece of paper, leaping over the glory, sitting quietly on the moon, thoughts lingering. Listening, Zen singing; looking up, the years are quiet. Dark night, quiet and cool. The thoughts of the past have been chaotic, and the dance nights are secretly enchanting. My heart, telling the moon, v. on paper. A scent of ink, entangled, intoxicated, I don’t know what night.

Love is cool in the middle of the night, with a piece of paper, confessed to the prosperity of the world. Yu Moxiang has forgotten the world, and the heart of the lake has been quiet and peaceful. This is a long-cherished wish. Close your eyes and sing the smell of the night with a flying attitude. Long, secluded. I didn’t know yesterday, I don’t know that I’m coming to the present day, I just want to be alone in the window, waiting for the flowers.

A lonely lamp, an empty city. Who is at your fingertips, and who is in your heart city? The dimly lit light smashed like a flower, lightly igniting the lips, sighing like water, and whether it is well. I only want to pick up the corners of my mouth and dance with a feather coat. Chanming is gradually stopped, and a piece of paper is enough to warm the half-life. At that time, young and half-lived, and the first sight was amazing, goodbye. Your face, engraved on the three stones, this life, warm and fragrant.

A cup of clear, a few cycles. Floating smoke, look at you like a thrush. I went with my heart and went to a white-headed old man. The smog is faint, and this sentiment is deep. Before sitting in the ink, listen to the song. I don't know what the other side is, picking up a red bean branch for you. The green leaves come back and forth a few times, and the smiles are deep and shallow. Your face, the night is fragrant. Lightly traced with 茗, overflowing with warm incense, dancing, and enchanting. Like the border town that year, the sky is snowing, light and passing, and the room is cool. In the past, the glory of the past, the hand of the child, danced with the snow. Look back, your smile, warm heart. The snow of the city is not as good as your lips. Gentle and calm, the years are quiet.

A piece of paper, this life is warm and cold. Bring a scent of ink and lightly trace your warm eyebrows. Through the window, you come. Stepping on the wind, facing the moon, this moment, everything recovers, and the heart washes away. Chanming, walking with you for a leisurely month, this moment, everything is quiet, only full of joy, and your whisper. The pen is the morning bell and the drums; the pen is like a warm flower. Do not seek pilgrimage, only ask for this long-lasting water. When you are reunited, give a gift. A painting of a new year, a minute and a second fog to find flowers. Yu Peisheng is far away, and the red dust is still fragrant. It is God's care, it is not too late to meet in this life. Listening to the Zen, listening to the white clouds, smiling.

The night is like ink, and it’s a little to the dew. Standing against the window, the fragrance is blurred. I don’t know where I am, I’m a breeze, like you sing low. Hope, the moon is clear; oh, the Iraqis Qiongzhi. Sitting alone in the window, it is cold and full, I don’t know what day it is, and I am accompanied by the Iraqi people. On the stranger, the flower is opened, the branch is folded, the flower is opened, the hair is light, and the person is more delicate. The road is not complete, and the complaints are not exhausted. The Iraqi people in this world will not be able to live up to the Qing Dynasty.

The heart is gone, and the world is warm. Although I don't see the heroic black hair of the king, but the warmth of the king. So, it will be fine. Long nights are long, and the moon is on the wind, and the songs are not scattered. Sitting on the terrace, lingering in thoughts, caressing Qiongzhi, and blossoming at the moment. Listen, Zen sings; look, red dust gathers. Left hand, lightly hold your right hand, as you are next to it, warm fingertips are cool. Hold the hand and go to the white head. Looking up, a room is dizzy, and you will not feel the cold at night. How to send acacia, only a thousand lines of writing, only the night to pick up the moonlight, only the cold clothes.

Years of rushing, the flow of years has declined. I hope that I will reunite with the best of the best, and I will dance with the monarch. Dance a song in the autumn, a cup of ancient rogue. Silence and love, silently. As I first saw it, I spent the time. Today, like yesterday.

First grade: early summer ice and snow