If life is just like the first time, you don't have to draw a fan in the autumn wind.

It is easy to change, and it is also easy to change.

Lishan language is clear at midnight, and the rain bell doesn't complain at night.

More importantly, if you are lucky, you will be more willing than before.

Butterfly Love by Nalan Xingde

Hard work is the most regrettable thing about the bright moon. One night is like a ring, and the evening is a sigh. If the moon finally comes out, I will not hesitate to be roasted by snow and ice. It's easy to die without that kind of fate. The swallow is still there, said the soft curtain hook. After singing the autumn grave, I didn't rest, and the spring bush recognized the amphibious butterfly.

You gave birth to me and I gave birth to you. You hate me for being late, and I hate you for being early.

You gave birth to me, but I didn't. I hate being born for you. Meanwhile, I treat you well every day.

I was born before you were born. You gave birth to me. I am old and far away from you, and you are far away from me.

I was born before you, but you were born. I will turn into a butterfly every night to find flowers and live in the grass.

Three songs of mourning

one

You are like Gong's favorite daughter, and it's not going well to marry me, a poor man.

You patch my clothes from your own wicker basket, sell wine and dial gold hairpin.

You eat your food with wild vegetables, but your food is sweet. You cook with dead branches with leaves.

Now that I am a high official, you are far away from the world and sent some monks and priests to be at the mercy of monks.

Secondly,

I used to joke that it was behind us, but now it is in front of us as you said.

The clothes you have worn have been given away, and I can't bear to open your sewing box.

Because I miss you, I love girls very much, and many of your dreams, I will burn paper for you.

No one knows that the husband and wife will be sad, and many past memories are extremely sad.

third

I'm sitting here alone, mourning for both of us. How many years is my seventy years old? .

There are people better than me, and God refuses to give them a son [6]. There is a poet better than me, and his dead wife can't hear him [7].

Even if you can bury it, you can't tell a passion. What an illusory hope the fetters of the afterlife are.

However, when I open my eyes, I can see the whole night, the lifelong troubles in your brow.

In addition, Bai Juyi's Song of Eternal Sorrow and Zhang's Moonlit Night on the Spring River. [Cao Xueqin's "Burying Flowers" and other works of Nalanxingde's "Drinking Water Words"