-
There are no stars in the night sky, and the waning moon seems to catch a thousand injuries, which makes people sleepless and worry.
Western sunset, such as blood, red clouds, haze, people drink alone, drunk for an autumn.
The dusk is deep, and the clouds cherish the wind. The curtains are thin in the west wind. I left my sorrow late and came late, and Jasper ended up under the curtain of the kiosk. The sound of flute and bamboo stunned Xiao Xuan's green window. The night ink is hazy, outside the stone wall, the green willow dew is delicate, the depression covers the sky, the screen is in the middle, the right street is short, and the blue and red lanterns are hung several times. The years of fragrance retention are self-defeating, the residual flowers are gone, and a wind of fragrance is lingering.
Prosperity will come to an end, and you will get hurt and miss the old year. Time flies, several times sad, floating, mo, mo, mo. Fireworks laugh, complex, life-long melancholy, write a song of acacia, write a piece of acacia, break, break. Love is also empty, and dreams are also empty. Leaving old things and distractions in the air will make you feel sad.
Beautiful people want you back. In Xiao Xuan Pavilion, you are worried about your husband. Zhu Yan withered, the bronze mirror shone lightly, and the purple sleeves were rough. For the sake of the monarch, I was heartbroken. The flowers in the mirror also withered. Seen from the side of the mirror, the moon is above and enchanting in the water. The night is dark and the moon is full of shadows. Lift your sad face and look at the moonlight. Tears flow thousands of lines. The years are mottled and the night is sparse. Yingying Juanjuan always lacks a circle. Why can't the boudoir endure, how can you not think about leaving sorrow? It's a pity that Moonracer's face lacks the brilliance of snow, and the woman in the Xiao Xuan Pavilion was not truly beautiful. Expect to become empty, gentle wind, sent into the boudoir, surrounded by three feet of lotus fragrance. The moonlight lingers, the moonlight is arrogant, the insects hum, and the sound hangs away. The moon shadow is sparse, and the pavilion leans against the window, but it can't penetrate the vastness of silver moon's blurred empty lock after the silent night.
In the dead of night, the wind gently knocks on the door, which is as light as ink and spills over the mountains and rivers. Unfortunately, I can't reach you. The reflection is wrapped in sorrow, tears and flowers are fragrant, and the beads are covered, and the thoughts are zero. In the wing, the screen is drunk and the ink is recalled. I was drunk, sad, resentful and lost my wrist. Make vows, forbid obsessions, and think about love. Pearl curtain jasper gently shook, picked up the pipa, and tears fell. Outside the pillar of the small building, people who come home late say that the night sky in summer is empty. Where to complain about the end of the season, the green leaves are cold and the bananas are cold.
Light song tears have passed, why, draw the night together. The words on the scarlet letter are farewell, broken and hurt, which is a bleak period. Sleepwalking thousands of miles, thinking of you sadly, full of sadness, attached to a paper crane, bringing you my thoughts, the moon is hesitating, and people are hesitating. Draw the footsteps of the years and write down the loneliness without you. The moonlight is beautiful, how to know the blood in people's eyes. I can't seem to hold my pen, and my mood is very depressed. I knocked on the small window and looked forward. At the end of the silent night, the sight is blurred, the tears are blurred, and the faint smell of smoke lingers. I gently parted the lotus fragrance and buried it in the moonlight. Under the red candle, the candle tears, the bed carved with ebony purple, the quilt of Qingling, and the seat of Qingluo. Outside the white tent, the yellow flowers in the dressing table and mirror are not yesterday. It has been several years since autumn, and my face is old and no longer beautiful.
By candlelight, tears flowed everywhere, and the dim pen and ink soaked the book paper. Sad night, the moon has gone down to the west wing, small windows, dressing tables, rouge light. Gently soft fingers, frown, sudden sadness. There are thousands of rhymes, thousands of beauties, and hundreds of flowers in dreams, sharing drinks with you. Drunk drinking a pot of old wine is unbearable to look back on the old building. Do you know, under the moon, you said that the sky is dry and the rocks are rotten, and you will never give up. Unfortunately, the promise is drifting away, and you have already gone to Lanzhou by boat. Do you know that it was July and August, but it was as bleak as late autumn, guarding the window and worrying about you twice, which forced me to be helpless. Do you know that I miss you in tears every night and cut a corner of the Yuanyang opera, but I don't know that my heart is broken. Do you know that the waning moon is always like a jade hook, catching a thousand worries, and the bright moon also throws away acacia, which makes me worry, where can I find it?
You are old and sad. You have no sleep tonight. I think of your face and dream of a boat outside the ancient river. Clear and soft tears, full of my sleepless sadness, blood and tears have already dyed the sky red and clouds are shining. You worry about your husband and miss the wind, and you are dismissed and crushed in the smoke of the third night of the month. Who cares? Broken madness, whose dream? Find his way. Whose love? Thinned in the wind. Whose pain? Tears disappear. In the middle of the night, you sang an idiotic dream and shattered the intoxicating people who craved the world of mortals for a piece of acacia dirt. Rouge makeup, xiaoxiang dream, a few soft songs, when to rest. It's late at night, you know? There are stone roads in the neighborhood, and the lights sleep with the moon. I can't sleep alone. Looking out of the window, the building was blurred and frowning in the faint smoke. Should this year be over? Yun cherishes Ryutsuki. When he is old, he no longer worries, but remembers to worry and forgets to complain.
Half a broken lamp, indigo temples, clothes are getting wider and wider, and you look haggard. You admire yourself, please invite the moon shadow. Hand in hand, speechless, moonlight in the south of the Yangtze River, in the night, like a dream, who is holding a bamboo umbrella, waiting hard on your way away, but returning empty-handed.
Words are exhausted, and the heart is empty. Drunk with a broken bronze mirror. Smile with sleeves, and the fallen flowers are hard to find. As soon as the heart is locked and the wine is cold, I will fly to Yuping in the west wing alone. A little crimson lips, beautiful as a roll, a ray of light sorrow, a dress.
Clouds bid farewell to the moon, fishing fires sleep, the night is hazy, sadness and hatred continue, stealing faint thoughts and accompanying me to sleep. Old people are hurt when they are old, and the clouds are light and the wind is light, accompanied by the moon until sunrise. It is an idiotic dream, dreaming about several seasons and autumn.