When HTML template, and regain the dream of the south of the Yangtze River
after another years, who can remember the handle of the broken bridge on the edge of the bridge in West Lake, and the gentle footsteps on the green stone slab in the rain lane? Waking up in the dream,david jones online store, who is holding the yellowing poetry scroll in the dream of Jiangnan recollection of the red dust infatuation? In the afternoon of a slight rain, a Book of poems and books, sitting alone in the window, listening to the sound of the oars from the sound of the music,belk clothing, the heart, the light of the humid air, straight to the south of the Yangtze River, looking for the old dreams in the rain and the rain. In the impression, the willow bank in the south of the Yangtze River is surrounded by water, and the ancient melodious melody is slowly flowing in the clear lake water. Today, my heart is walking on the breeze in June, lingering in the ancient town of Jiangnan, and can not bear to leave. One year after another, the south of the dream is still the attachment of my soul. The old white tile walls, arch bridge pavilions, river port stone steps, wooden pillar porch eaves, paddle sound,Nordstrom Rack Outlet, water waves, and mottled blue and white porcelain, let me remember, as early as the first sight. In every day when I miss the south of the Yangtze River, I always borrow a cloud of mist, touch the dreamland, and then cut a piece of willow, remove myself from the flute, and sneak into the south of the South with the wet wind... When my finger slid through the moss on the wall of the stone, I quit the hustle and bustle of the red dust and lifted the dark fragrance of a sleeve of clove, singing and singing in the long Tang poems and song words. "The four hundred and eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties, how many towers are misty rain." Whispering such a poem, my eyes will reflect such a picture: on the twenty fourth bridge, a white man, a flute in the wind, a gentle flute, and a pool of green lotus... On the quiet blue waves, a purple woman, dressed in water and beautiful silk, drunk the fragrance of flowers on both sides. Walking on the side of the stone bridge, I felt the legend of the next generation was not far away. I saw clearly that the bridge between Xu Xian and the white lady was on both sides of the broken bridge. Standing on the shore of the pillow water, listening to the distant shallow shallow Pingtan, a touch of warmth, a trace of melancholy, a bit of yearning wandering in mind, rippling. The creaking sound of the creak made me listen to the footsteps of the past. Really want to borrow a curtain of misty rain, a pot of yellow wine, you drunk. "How many idle worries are you?" Yichuan tobacco, full city catkins, plum Huang Shiyu. " Bending down, picking up a piece of falling red, I sing in the rain. Listen, whose footsteps are crushed by the footsteps on the green slabs of the rain lane? Who is lonely on the pain? How many years have gone away in the morning and evening drum? I can't ask about it. Today, the rain is as inextricably linked as the year, and it's just that people don't know where they are. The rain falls on the tiles and drops in front of the window lattice and falls into the sea of yearning. The voice is low, a word of paper blooms the faded leading edge, is lost in a river of clear water,revolve clothing, the wave of the rhythm, whose eyes are painful? Misty rain, who is the guardian of this world? A gust of wind, who wrinkles the lovesickness? The deciduous leaves are in riotous profusion, and whose flower is messed up? If one day, I wore a blue flower coat, a long white dress, an oil paper umbrella, not for the situation, not for the melancholy of the leaves, in the smoke and rain in the leisurely pace, the long soul and dream, fragrant full clothes, that is what kind of beauty and dance