轻轻地,我踏入这个似曾相识的世界,悲喜过客,唱不尽凭楼远眺的长歌;黑暗正义,道不完兵戎相见的故事。天若有情天亦老。诗书,你看似情意的挥点,恰似在我相遇的时分,映射出一个个时代,一位位诗人,一段段不老的曾经。那一个个夜晚,歌声妖娆,茶叶在杯中起伏,呷一口清茶,捧一卷唐诗宋词,走过千年的哀愁,徜徉于墨香的淡雅清愁。这个假期,就这样丰富了我。鲜血从虞姬苍白的肌肤中流出,开出绝艳的玫瑰。在那团红色的鲜艳中,虞 Gently, I entered this deja vu world, tragedy and passing, singing not long by the floor overlooking the long song; dark justice, endless road to meet the story of soldiers and soldiers. If the days of love are also old days. Poetry, you seemingly emotional point of departure, just as I met at a time, a map of one era, a bit of a poet, a section of old age. That night, singing enchanting, tea in the cup ups and downs, a Qingcha, holding a roll of Tang poetry and Songs, through thousands of years of sadness, wandering in the elegant fragrance of ink. This holiday, it enriched me. Blood from Yu Ji pale skin outflow, out of absolutely brilliant roses. In that group of bright red, Yu