If the fleeting life is indifferent, a exhausted love will fall again, and there is still a trace of affection. Where does tenderness come from?

Life is fleeting, why not enjoy that quiet season! !

Ran Ran wasted his youth, looked back silently, and the years still flowed, and suddenly he was young and frivolous. In the cycle of the world season, the sea becomes a mulberry field, the residual flowers fall out, and the water still flows eastward. Who changed the vicissitudes of life? The world of mortals is boundless, complaining that the years are ruthless, but once the prosperity is gone, it is left behind and lonely, wandering alone …

Years drift with the tide, how helpless is life? Alone in a boat, half-life ups and downs, coming and going in a hurry, when to stop, watching the years like smoke, enjoying the gorgeous fireworks at that moment, watching the wind light and the clouds light ... When I think about it, I think of the colorful season, the butterfly dance among the flowers, the sadness of yesterday, the loneliness of reincarnation and the desolation of that autumn ...

Life is fleeting, and the years pass quietly. In the early morning of Shuangshu, there are soft lights, laughing at all the dust like smoke and the wind blowing without a trace ... Or, sitting in the courtyard in the afternoon, watching life like chess and sighing how many times life struggles; Why don't you put it down for a while, dispatch troops, be the commander-in-chief of the three armed forces, and take my dream of being a general …

I wonder what it will be like to lie on the sofa in a few years. Birds return early, sunset sets at dusk, the lake is lonely, and fishermen sing at night. Just an ink painting, look at Feng Yun's picture scroll, the castle peak loves the water, the mandarin ducks play in the water, two magpies dance around the nest, indulge in tenderness, and giggle at the human fate ...

Time goes by, but we can't see the appearance of the ancients. The stars in the courtyard are sparse, the moonlight is bright, the sound of bamboo is gurgling, or the frost and snow hang down the eyebrows, and the maple leaves are dyed in autumn; Confused thoughts, make a cup of tea and warm a pot of turbid wine; Take a sip of fragrant tea, read the classics of our ancestors, drink a cup of bitter taste and sing the poems of the ancients; Dip a drop of light ink and the book will be scribbled. In a cold case, take a moment and get eternity …

The years are indifferent, the years flow gently through my fingers, walking by the lake, the wind is very cool, watching dusk and early spring come late, singing the years like songs, believing in the flute, Yang Liuan and two rows of acacia trees …

Time flies, green stone steps, no one to sweep, full of loneliness; The tower is broken, the attic is broken, life is dark, and the traces of gray and blue have faded; I try to trace the years with my pen, but it's hard to draw like smoke ... I just leave a mood and memories of a few years ... When I am free, I will turn over those poems full of memories, or laugh them off or frown.

If the fleeting life is indifferent, flowers bloom and fall on strangers, with a little affection and gentleness, the road is long and Xiu Yuan is Xi.

Not a book, just an essay mood.

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