Metaphor has a bitter poem.

The dusk is heavy and the eaves are stormy.

Xia Han, you will be over half a year old.

The window was broken by autumn scenery, and it was awkward in several circles.

Twenty-seven times the grass faded, and the dream came in spring.

Time flies, the young eagle becomes a hero, and the phoenix becomes a fairy.

Why worry about traveling in a foreign land if you are not on the earth?

The rope on the swing is broken, and the mushroom umbrella on the seesaw is far away from childhood.

The smell of chickens turns pale, dogs sleep late, and adult roads are cold.

Between singing and dancing, only you look at the moon and feel lonely.

Drunk and beautiful, holding hands and watching tears outside the dream

People with ears are hard to convince, and naturally it is hard to make people talented.

Lies have poisoned your heart for many years, and you have boiled suffering into sweetness.

Thousands of miles away in the village, I miss my dear mother's farewell speech.

Hard to go, diligent as a mirror, come back when you are successful.

Between the stars and Dai Yue, there was a boy's blood.

Taking dreams as horses is a long journey, and the heart hides tomorrow in the countryside.

After working hard for a thousand years, what's the point of becoming famous?

Qian Fan has reached the other shore, but my love is cold.