风干了海棠遗墨,花事阑珊。你曾持花灯还家,而今我隔万水千山共君遥望。水云阔,音书茫。写予你的信,一首未名诗。——写予风眼睫的露水未干,《诗经》的清风越岭而来。久远缥缈的时空,你兀自婉转成歌。风吹浮云氤氲水雾,弥漫了先秦,缓释凋零的花。青青子衿迎风纷飞,思念隔 Begonia ink dried, delicate things. Have you ever spent lantern still home, and now I have thousands of miles away from home a total of distant look. Shui Yunkuang, soundless book. Letter to you, an unknown poem. - Written to the eyes of eyelashes dew did not dry, “Book of Songs” breeze more from the ridge. Long time shy of space and time, you turn politely into song. The wind blowing clouds misty mist, filled the pre-Qin, slow release of decay flowers. Green son 衿 swirling, miss every other