The year of the spring, the heart has no time. A man, a chair, a sheet of paper, a table, a pen...
In a golden sun, one shoulder pure white moonlight, the book is about the feelings, write a chapter of the red dust have love. Will inhabit the warm color of time, painted the branches of the years, in the beauty to the extreme scenery, the fine life road poems and the distance.
I have always liked to write and write in the grass. I have always felt that words have a strange life texture, and they are one of the indispensable veins for my healthy growth.
The word is the carrier of the thinker's good use, is the release of the ego mood. Words, if the sun, like drizzle, like the wind of the wind, through the life of happiness and sorrow, make themselves in the cycle of the season pain and happiness.
As light as the words of the butterfly wings, like the open garden flowers never fade in my heart, sending out the faint fragrance, I was haunted by which the light aroma of the depths of the soul, and moments Shared with stranded in the sea level and oblique tones of the poetry.
In the wind and rain, I like to go with those warm words that are born with love. Write the truth in a simple ink pen, write down the good will, write down the flowers, write down the light fragrance... Let the glory of the years, in the clear clarity of time words in rhyme, sentence into poetry.
The red dust is green, because there is a writing colleague, a tired heart can gradually become calm. Remove the weight of armor and end a cloud of water. With the words of yajie's deep xiu, they depict the earthly fireworks in the deep.
Through the ancient valance, the veil of the changjie is lifted, and the words, which are clever, heroic, graceful and elegant, are sometimes mild and gentle. They adorn and enrich my plain life with their charming beauty.
Walking the earth, unwilling and vulgar, just want to have an affair with the text. Stand in time of the ferry, wait for words, also wait for you. The poetry mountain, the wandering word sea, only for the sake of a text. In the jin sehua year, the pen is the feeling, the ink is warm, regardless of life's troubles, record the beautiful moment. Together we banish the mind, and the words with the drunken song. To the mundane, the miscellaneous trifles, precipitated into the beautiful time between the fingers.
The world of glass, music and dance. Never like the noise, not the noise. Prefer to sit in a corner, do not speak prosperous, do not complain loneliness, just want to meet the written word, meet you, together in the spring red autumn yellow season to express the chapter, in the summer wind and winter Yang's time to think freely...
Keep to the current year, not idle time, live up to oneself. Find a sweet spot in the water and live in the hedgerow. A person in a plain text, with a thin pen, write a piece with the text, with you not to the dust.
Like to walk in the words with temperature, think I think, think I think, with my handwriting my heart!
The time is quiet, the years are quiet. Only wish the day of the future: the writing book flower, poetic time! Under the blue sky, bathed in the sunshine, a sleeve of wind, and "wen hua" light dance. This is the happiest time of my life and the most beautiful moment of my life!