Where is the winter warm, where is the summer cool? The dead wood burns my head full of white hair. After years of separation, there are no more flowers.

Time is thin and cold, it can be deep or shallow; things in the world are impermanent and cannot be avoided or surprised.

History is a mighty wind that blows away the talents and beauties of that year, and dilutes the sun and flowers and shadows of that year, but it cannot blow away the deep affection in the paper, nor the soft affection in the ink. .

There is a loquat tree in the courtyard. My wife planted it the year she died. Now it is as tall as a canopy!

At that time, there was only one lamp, no one around, no fists in hand, and a broken heart. This endless hatred has its ultimate end!

Can the warmth of the world be transmitted to them through the thin coolness of the loess and one meter of sunshine?

Can the thoughts of this world convey to them a piece of deep love through the desolation of the moonlight.

Who lingers at the crossroads of time, waiting for the memories of childhood; who lingers on the ferry crossing of peach blossoms, looking forward to a reunion in time.

The beauty of the world is to hold on to a good relationship at the beginning of the year, no matter the changes in the world, no matter the wind and rain in the world, just hold hands with that person forever.

The vicissitudes of the human world are nothing more than that sentence: "It was ordinary at that time, the feelings remain the same, but the people have changed. It is difficult to paint a sad scene, and it is difficult to describe a deep feeling."

Half-Dead Tong · Everything will go wrong if you go through the Chang Gate again

Song Dynasty: He Zhu

Everything will go wrong if you go over the Chang Gate again. We came together and returned home differently. After the parasol trees were half dead and the frost cleared, the white-headed mandarin ducks flew away without their companions.

The grass on the original plain shows the first signs of sunshine. The old habitat and the new ridge are both close to each other. Lying on an empty bed listening to the rain outside the south window, who will stay up late at night to mend clothes?

The phoenix tree is half dead, the mandarin duck is missing its companion, the long alley is still the same, the weather is still the same as the falling flowers, and the person who promised to go with you has broken the promise halfway.

A piece of decaying grass and a pile of loess, but they are separated by yin and yang. The window is still the same as that day, and the rain is still the same. The lamp is like a bean, and the heart is the same as before. It seems that you can still see the gentleness of the person who picks up the lamp to mend clothes, and lowers his eyebrows.

"Two Poems of Shen Yuan"

Lu You, Song Dynasty

The setting sun on the city draws the corner of mourning , Shen Yuan is not a restored pool platform.

The spring waves under the sad bridge were green, and it was once the shadow of a startling grand.

The dream has faded and the fragrance has faded for forty years, and the old willow in the garden has stopped blowing.

This body is walking in the soil of Jishan, and there is still a trace of it.

The love story of a young man becomes sad as he grows older. He spends his whole life wandering, pursuing, reminiscing, and loving each other all his life.

It’s still the setting sun that painted corners, it’s still that year of pavilions and pavilions, it’s still that year of spring scenery that’s still the same as before, it’s still that year of green shadows and clear waves. It's just that the beauty is no longer there, leaving the poet alone to wander and miss her alone.

She is his childhood sweetheart, he is her sweetheart, she is his sweetheart, he is her pillow, he is her love, she is his immortality. Lovesickness.

Perhaps life is a mistake. Between meeting and parting, there is a sigh of regret, a prosperous desolation, a sad reunion, and endless melancholy.

In the end, she died for this love, and she became a cinnabar mole in his heart that would never fade away.

"Jiang Chengzi·Dreams on the Night of the Twentieth Day of the First Month of Yi Mao"

Su Shi of the Song Dynasty

Ten years of life and death are so vast that they cannot be forgotten without thinking. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, no place to talk about desolation. Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.

At night, I suddenly returned home from a deep dream. I was dressing up outside the small window. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the place where the heart is broken every year, on a bright moonlit night, there are short pine hills.

After ten years of life and death, we meet in a dream. He has traveled all over the world, his face is covered with dust, and his temples are like frost; she is still the same as before, fixing her makeup in the mirror, and her charm is as old as before.

In the long world of mortals, who has not trekked one step at a time, who has not lost heartbreakingly, who has not remembered it unforgettably, who has not cried all night long, and who has not longed for it.

Just through the vicissitudes of time, there is always a love in my heart, hiding the beauty and warmth of that year; there is always someone who stays in that year and lives at the entrance of memory.

"National Style·Bei Feng·Green Clothes"

The clothes are green, and the green clothes are yellow. The heart is worried, just protect yourself!

Green clothes, green clothes and yellow clothes. My heart is full of worries, and I want to defend my death!

It is green and silky, and is governed by women. I miss the ancients, so I can't help myself.

The rain is coming, and the wind is desolate. I miss the ancients, and they really won my heart!

There is a kind of fate called the passing years; there is a kind of fate called the blue sea and blue sky.

I carefully remember every little habit of yours, but I can never find your faint smile again; I have carefully preserved all the past about you, but it is difficult to describe the romance between your eyebrows; I lightly I caress your old shirt, but I can no longer touch your warmth.

As the water flows through the long corridor of time, I am in the world, picking up a red leaf of memory and writing a shallow farewell.

Five Poems of Lisi·Fourth

Tang Dynasty: Yuan Zhen

Once upon a time, there was no water in the sea, except for Wushan, it was not a cloud.

Take the flower bush to look back lazily, half destined to practice Taoism and half destined to be a king.

If that person ever appeared in the world, everyone else would become a makeshift person.

The life-and-death bond is the promise we made back then, and the flowers before the moon and under the moon are the images in our memories. No matter how hard you practice, you may not be able to get someone who will accompany you to the end.

On the road to the mortal world, there are too many passers-by. If you turn around unintentionally, you will leave all the past and all the kindness behind, never to meet again.

Time has washed away eternity, and now there is only one person's vast sea, one person's Wushan, one person's flowers, and one person's desolation.

Picking mulberries·Xie Family Courtyard Zangeng Li

Qing Dynasty: Nalan Xingde

The courtyard of the Xie family is still standing, and the swallows are placed on the carved beams. The silver wall of the moon does not distinguish the flowers but the fragrance.

This feeling has become a memory of its own, with scattered mandarin ducks. The rain has stopped and it’s cool. It was a dream eleven years ago.

Today the trees are full of flowers, tomorrow it will be raining red.

Time flies by, and gatherings and separations are inevitable, but some stories can never be let go; some people can never be forgotten.

The mandarin ducks are scattered, the past is dim, the people who left have gone far, but the people who stayed behind still stay in the dream of that year, unwilling to wake up.

This feeling has become a memory of its own. We are all wandering in time, and whether we like it or not, we will eventually be taken to a distant place. Time healed everything, but left behind striking scars that he licked alone every night.

It was a dream in the world of mortals, with the melancholy of the moonlight spreading all over the sky. He drank a cup of overnight bitter tea every day, picking up the memories of the past, trying to piece together the incomplete days.

Some emotions need to be hidden, and some thoughts are destined to be buried. All the tenderness, all the beauty, all the gambling books and tea, all the pear blossoms like snow, are dyed into cool tears. No matter how he looks across the tall buildings and through the autumn water, those who have gone far away will never come back.

On the long road of life, who is someone else’s falling flower, who is someone else’s flowing water, who is someone’s first sight, who is someone else’s Painting the fan, who is whose hair is still there, who is whose, I am confused at that time.

All things in the world are just dust compared to the separation of life and death.

I hope you can have what you can have in your limited life, cherish what you can cherish, and live up to this life.