I like the sunset of Xiaguang wanrui, and I prefer you sitting side by side with me in the sunset. The light of Ming and Ming extinction reflects on your face, flickering and dark, and puts me in a dream.

Running water rippling, spring is waning, fog and steam hazy. Hanging over my heart, the lingering is your shadow. There is no head to continue, but there is nothing to avoid. You always break into that door with a smile, ignorant, but full of joy. For your clear eyes, you can’t pretend to be calm and can’t hold down your heart.

You are the sincere Buddha in front of the Buddha Gate. You are sacred and dare not profane. The girl passing by feels scared at a glance. In the bottom of my heart, there is something urging me to turn around and leave your figure in my memory, greedy and lingering. You are the proud green lotus in Nantang, in the mud, but Bai Jie is flawless. At the bottom of the pool in Nantang, there are small small fish. The tail fish, born in mud and long in mud, is all dark. How dare you be close to the Green Lotus. It is only wander between lotus leaves, close far under the cover of Qing, secretly greedy for that a faint scent. You are the dream of western continent, the South Wind is warm, and the boat slowly streaks traces on the water surface. The sound of water is exquisite, but oars can never figure out the boundary of the dream. It will only be on the endless blue wave, traveling all the way west, confused and resolute.

There is wind, blowing through the sparkling waves, pulling up the light swaying of the Lotus, passing through the fansong of the Buddhist Hall, stirring my broken hair. Suddenly, he returned to the dim sky under the sunset. Accustomed to the shadow of solitude, I suddenly felt a touch of loneliness. Unobtrusive, but the silk is in the bone.

Zan (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) Phoenix Mountain Spring Tour

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