天鸟枯荣几多世纪。凄绝的湖仍是寂寞,丛树、乱草、远山。没有人来过这里,唯一来过的一位诗人已石化为一只天鸟。这里一切宁静悠然如处子。天鸟不会流泪。湖水清冽,白云如羊群在水底游荡,那枚艳阳出自一个杳渺的传说,是一位王子的血泼落而成,旋转熠动的是折断的羽翼。天鸟会吟唱。黄昏从山那头飞过来,嫣红的梦被击碎散落一地,晚烟将她的影子拉长,优美清雅而抒情。月光如水。 How many centuries of birdworm Sad Lake is still lonely, Cong trees, chaos grass, mountains. No one has been here, and the only poet who has been to Petrified has become a bird of heaven. All quiet and leisurely here as a child. Bird will not shed tears. Clear water lake, white clouds like sheep flocked to the bottom of the water, that piece of the sun came from a stupid legend, is a prince of blood splashed, rotating sparks is broken wings. Birds will sing. Twilight flying from the other end of the mountain, bright dreams were crushed scattered, late smoke will be her shadow elongated, elegant and elegant lyrical. Moonlight like water.