Who can solve the prose of Sauvignon Blanc?

The wind blows the phoenix tree frost, and the chrysanthemum color is new. It is also said that the weather is cold, the color is more sad, and another round of autumn rain and autumn wind is sad. In a word, the geese have gone, and the whispers have gone to autumn. Autumn is strong, it kills, and the thin moon is still sad, soaking green and soaking yellow. During the period, Ai Ai threw a bead curtain and swayed the red candle and autumn wind. I still remember that the spring breeze is warm and the ink is dotted with geese. Every word tears, every sentence ripples, red and howling. Who misses you?

The drizzle and oblique wind invaded the ancient road, and the horizon was boundless. The Wan Li in the sky was beautiful and the eyebrows were cold in autumn. Meday added trouble, but turned the flute to the bottom. Frost covered the ground when the window was broken, and the chrysanthemums were colorless. Hanging pot of residual wine is bright with charcoal fire, drunk chrysanthemum is golden, and pieces are like fallen leaves, which only increases melancholy.

Old dreams follow essays, every word is empty, and always in my heart, paper is thin and thick. Shame and disability, lazy lips, frosty blue silk muddy, Youzi singing Liang Zhu. Half a song of phoenix courtship, the lyrics are the first phoenix, heartbroken, and it will still be a swan song at the end of the world. Drunk to hook the moon invited, drink two bells in a single cup, thin shadows staggered drunk west wind, dancing and worrying about Chang 'e, dancing, clarinet, mourning, both lying in the autumn wind, soft patches of chrysanthemum. The yellow flowers on the ground are thick, just like the moon in autumn is thin and cold. The west wind is crazy, and the residual lotus is more worried. Thick ink is cool, but I still cry when I put pen to paper.

As the festival approaches, I feel lonely, singing and dancing wildly, and the rice paper is full of Sauvignon Blanc. The burning smoke soared into the sky, still intoxicated in the desert dream. Acacia is near, and the sound is far away. Don't say return date in the future, the autumn wind is lonely. Song stays sad, hates to stay sad, and looks forward to hanging a pot and whispering with the old cup. The night is dim and the stars are blurred, and the Iraqi people are pitiful. Who is alien Long song suing?

Pen and ink can hardly eliminate the leakage of the heart, worry about cups and vines, hook the moon and hate hidden clouds, and the fragrance is more autumn rain. Lili's clothes are getting wider and wider, and her eyes are haggard. There are two or three sounds when the west wind passes through the window lattice, dreaming and dancing, and the spring breeze loves flowers. When is the spring flower and autumn moon? Don't miss each other, don't be disappointed, it's all life, and a dream is hard to understand. No one knows about Bing Xin's jade pot, but he is still disappointed.

Just put it down and remember it again. In retrospect, I still hate tears. Wan Li, who is heartbroken? Twist a wisp of acacia, break a piece of melancholy, the wild sand is full of tears, and the flute and flute are faint and seize Yumen. A round of Leng Yue in the middle of the night, a bonfire, dancing around the sky with songs and tears, who knows?

Burning cigarettes, burning cigarettes, it is said that a thousand miles of bright moon * * * ChanJuan, when will Hong Fei give good news? Evil, evil, jade pot Bing Xin tells you, how about burning incense for a thousand years?