风,吹自西北,吹过千古。三月。春意初萌,春寒料峭。在南凉故郡,这块因纷争而渴望安宁,因动荡而加速融合的苍凉之地,看雪山绵亘,黄土漫坡。融入茫茫人海,走在川流不息的街市,如同穿行万古轮回的时光影壁。黄沙漫漫,我却不知,该在哪一段残垣上怀古;烽烟曳曳,我却不知,该从哪一页掀开纷乱的马蹄。层云漠漠,光阴流逝指间,只是转眼便已沧海桑田。当羌笛远去,一座荒丘兀自颓于夕照。驼铃走入大漠,雁声嘹唳于历史苍 Wind, blowing from the northwest, blowing through the ages. March. Spring early Meng, chill. In the south of the country, this piece of peace, longing for peace and turmoil, accelerated the bleak combination of land, watching the snow-capped mountains and loess slopes. Into the boundless sea, walking in the endless stream of markets, as the passage of time through the ages. Long sand, I do not know, what period of the old nostalgia; bees towed, I do not know, which page opened the chaos of horseshoe. Stratus clouds deserted, time-lapse refers to, just an instant they have the sea. When the bamboo flute goes away, a shortage of hills from the decadent sunset. Camel into the desert, wild goose roar in the history of Cang