A misty rain, ending the Jiangnan poetic; a season of flowers, spring is waning. “Don’t; once turned, tears buried wood and former Union; a bosom deep condensate, destined to you my love.
Silent snow, scattered, snow angel fantasy. Falling plum season snow, dancing all the century world of mortals. She, from dust, but dust buried. How many years is tender, only in exchange for a dance. Don’t ask the past, just for today, turn into Chunni more quadrangle. She did not miss immeasurably vast difference busy spring and autumn, the wind to fly to the end of the day. Numerous hills and streams, the remotest corners of the globe, no regrets.
Wan, Shui Mei she, Wan in the central water. How much water Jiangnan worry, like a round soft. She, flowers on guest, if water three thousand du. How many times looking back, only in exchange for this life turned. No complaints from the war, not permits forever, enjoy while one can. She is not human countless romantic guest, who will each edge stick. If you do not leave, I will not abandon, agreed to this life.
If you ask, there is snow on the ground, into the water, endlessly also sleepless. You know, time travel, lethe River, I eagerly look forward to. If you ask, just like Southern poetry, dark, don’t also not scattered. You know, on the horizon, the best, but his love of my heart.
Not the world of nostalgia, unwilling to face the separation. If you leave, each Ann tianya. If you do not leave, my heart forever. She, a red dust in the ordinary woman.
Geometry of life, don’t waste. Encounter that edge, be fu. Cheng Jun Connaught, thousands of years of love. You may recall, our initial.