dyed the World White.

2020年4月15日   |   by 科姆龙

Snow Mountain, snow ditch. Snow trees, snow leaves. The snow covered the yard, and a row of Dongqing in the corner was piled up with a layer of snow. Withered wisteria drooped on the wooden frame, with thin branches in the cold wind. A thin circular snow floated in the window lattice grille, all squeezed on the narrow wood strips. There was a layer of snow on the windowsill, spreading neatly, and two withered and yellow leaves falling down were inserted into the snow.
On the other side of the courtyard, there is a Red Plum Blossoming with little stars. Some are embellished, some are strings of sweet fragrance, some are colorful and some are scattered with snowflakes. Looking from the window, the Red Plum Blossoming alone in the white snow is a painting strongly bound with the white snow. The white and bright red are reflected in each other, and the red stamens and green leaves are fragrant.
The poetry and snow of the first yard, the warm winter of the first yard, the whispering of the winter snow of the first yard, the joy of the whole yard. Snow silky elastic, string double temperament, door checked in deeply dyeing maehyang. Light by the window, elegant and graceful, enjoy the Holly piece with green.
I wake up by snow, fragrant by Plum and read by window.
The snow falls to the fullest, turning the clouds in the sky into snow and falling on the earth. I am sentimentally attached to the April day of the years, which is Tuo Tuo and carefree. It shadows the mountains alone and shows the Northern Xinjiang together. A blend of heaven and earth, listen to the falling of flowers, and see the blooming of flowers together. A window of winter snow finally unloaded the tiredness and went down to lead. After cutting the stories of the past, he lit a handful of paper scraps to warm a pot of tomorrow. Then he calmly held the cup and filled it with warm plum red. When he pushed the window, a thick dark fragrance came into it.
A case bent down, light inkstone Mo Xuan. Elegant ink, strong fragrance. Dripping the youth of time, the wind is green with the waste of time. Looking up at a bright moon, gazing at a piece of snow, lingering the fate of the three generations, the love of the three generations. Along the wall, the Holly is long, the osmanthus is thick, the memory of a long flute, the deep memory of the red plum for another year, the love of a bunch of flowers and the meeting in the snow.
The winter snow is floating and scattered. Covers all the past. A person, a poem and an emotion are all falling snowflakes, passing with the wind and flowing with the water. The mountain is white, looking at the plum blossoms. The canoe of life is so heavy that I don’t know how many paddles are broken. When thousands of sails pass by, it is a mountain-wide peach garden again.
Under the eaves in front of the House, the wax fragrance of the new year is hanging, floating with the yearning and missing of the years. There are unforgettable past, unforgettable long and long, the candlelight of wind, flower, snow and moon, and the lingering red plum under the window.
The dyed Snow White, a piece of white. After returning from the snowstorm, a curtain of scarf in the world of mortals flashed into the heart of deep snow.
A window of winter snow pushed away the cold night……

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