The dream, like the flowers

The dream, like the flowers
Like flowers, flowers if dream dream.
A beautiful clothing which attacks the corona of clothing, you are a bright flower at mid-night, it is fragrant to take No. one, descend slowly and lightly in the high buildings and large mansions in a compact mass, knock at a window closed. At black night, have your black eyes, see the colored butterfly flying and leaving the end of the branch, that azalea like the blood. She garrison affectionately, only for the of cry that cry to bleeding, can in ends of the earth person in the pistil unreal image that. Even if it is that drop that congeal, reveal, one pulse jade liquid of love that deep love turn into of him too. Only such intimate contact, so long as this kind of vivid one is conciliated, only the watering of this kind of tenderness, night is no longer long. Sink, sleep, go in sweet-smelling of strong fragrance that, even if and then after an hour, has already been daybreak.
Wrap a suit of star light, you wheel over the village at night like brocade. The Chinese parasol tree is still rustling, the bamboo branch that those several poles waved, is sighing over " a west wind of curtain with feeling, people are thinner than the chrysanthemum " Dreary. It is not known whether for whom oneself is being wan and sallow, why become thin like Iraq? Who gentle home town in you it is, sing " where wine wake up night, willow bank, dawn wind waning moon. " Can't bear, go, think that " here should beautiful scene on a bright day in name only year in year out. Have a thousand kinds of conditions and customs vertically, with whom say! " That fatherless shadow of walking alone alone, is a wild crane by that cold pool, or the fishing firewood going angling alone in that river? It is that piece that insert pure white Fructus Gardeniae spend, write one getting white clothing young girl that sleeve waft? She stand, under the old Chinese scholartree, pray Old Man of the Moon bury her feelings for ten year send the teenager to chase wind? Wind, how don't be so cool? Don't let her tremble because of being cold, don't stroke the tears on her face again. That frost the same tears, was it the despair of 365 days that was born the weight of?
Holding in the mouth a wisp of misty rain in the South, you curl up in the bright and clean rain lane like the mirror. Tonight, that oiled paper umbrella, has been hanging at the wire pole in the roadside all the time. The equally melancholy girl of that cloves, does not want to regard as her staring at every night with a poem. Hold one leaf deserted, stand little courtyard in bajiao banana, listen to Chinese parasol tree tell continuous to whisper will it be day autumn. Tell until which star light like daytime cold night, rain rise full autumn pool night such as mountain such as Palestinian only, tell that west window of figures of cutting the candle, how green yarn treats the moon, sing one more piece of " sleep tonight ".
You are that a lonely one is deep and remote and blue, open being sad and gentle in the manuscript of the poetry of the Song Dynasty. "Auspicious brain fragrant to disappear soul to be dream broken, open up cold gold little hair worn in a bun or coil temples loose, wake up space-time to premium of candle. " That kind of one that teases and does not open is lonely, " embrace and worry densely that there is not pleasant dream alone, block and still cut the snuff get at night. " That kind wind appear dense to worry wash away in chest of you, how could feel transported!
Merry eve slack month, a curtain of deep and remote dreams. She seeks in dream, the pleasant dream accompanies people to return.
Weigh No. one flowers in the hand, collect a railway carriage or compartment of spring dream, take the bright monthly fresh breeze, the endless way of life of drifting fragrance.