风弗住,花落尽。只有空气中蕴藉的恬淡芬芳依稀传来,那些纷繁馥郁的花,那些温暖和煦的风,那些秀丽缱绻的景致,都如同这依稀恬淡的芬芳,轻轻掠过鼻尖。风,萧瑟着,黄了外院东墙上满架的爬山虎,黄得让人心醉,那百年斑驳的墙面在秋日的夕阳中低语着,几只鸟儿在空中高高低低地飞着,凄凄婉婉地唱着。透过低矮的法国梧桐,依稀望 Wind Fu live, flowers do. Only in the air implies the tranquil fragrance of faintly heard, those who are full of rich flowers, those warm and warm wind, those beautiful shy of the scenery, are like the dimly tranquil fragrance, gently over the tip of the nose. The wind, bleak, yellow Outside the court full of ivy on the east wall, yellow was intoxicated, that centuries mottled wall whispering in the autumn sunset, a few birds flying in the air, sad Mildly sang. Through the low French plane, vaguely hope