Spring night drizzle, fertile mood

The good rain knows the season, and spring happens. It sneaks into the night with the wind, moistening things silently. The continuous spring rain, closely following the valley rain, shows the enchanting posture, irrigates all things eager to moisten, and the wisps of rain gently depict the traces of life, it also enriches my long-drought mood the coming of Gu Yu, the soft rain, the fresh light washed everything in the world, the greedy suction of fresh air, the mood to accept the bath of spring rain, washing away the lead and dust, a soft and clean ripple moistens the dry heart sea. A kind of heart, a kind of intoxication, walking in the rainy night, missing overnight, a kind of tie, pulled by the rain to your window, the rain outside the window, can you hear my call? Light thoughts, light rain, clear Haggard, and drizzle flow into a stream of trickle mind, flashy like shadow, your hardship curled up in the raindrops. Rain is the sigh of the ocean, the tears of the sky, your favorite and my warmth. I like listening to the rain and the sound of rain and sand at night. The sound of rain not only cultivates people’s mood and softens people’s emotions, but also gives poets a relief. Su Shi’s beauty and rainstorm, Jiang Jie’s Yu Meiren, li Qingzhao had a long way to go, and even Li Shangyin said: When you asked about the date of return, when the rain rose in the autumn pool in Bashan Mountain, why did you cut two candles in total, but when it rained in Bashan Mountain at night. Rain is the product of nature. Because of rain, nature becomes vibrant, and because of people and rain, it becomes flesh and blood, and I understand sentimental feelings. Quiet night, stay away from flashy, listen to the intoxicating night rain, create an extraordinary realm for yourself. In this way, I sat alone in the study, with slight loneliness, slight missing and helpless sadness floating in the rain. With a note of dream, you are constantly flashing like a butterfly, as clear as yesterday, somewhat haggard, somewhat lonely, sympathetic to the heart, pulling the heart. I miss the little rose umbrella in the alley, and the poem that you string the rain beads into missing. You say: On rainy days, there are you in my poems, and there are me in your poems. The sound of rain, no tedious disturbance, no passion loss, no need to walk with a mask, only the warm sound of rain, mood, is expanded by your sincerity, filled by your deep feelings. Year and month flow, tired body and mind, it is always difficult to hold on to the continuous footsteps, into the late autumn, sometimes I have to lack the passion of youth, mood is always light, light, I like to look for the artistic conception of the Ancients in Tang Poetry and Song poetry. Every time I spend one day, the annual rings carve my face. When I see the current photos, I can’t find the trace of youth any more. But sometimes I am positive, not afraid of the coming of severe winter, willing to enrich myself with words, and the idea of facing everything calmly will not change. I like the smell of thin Love, which is like a slight sadness. I often feel that it is not strong enough, but I still like it very much. How many years, how many movements have been taken away, and how many vicissitudes and prosperity have been buried? I felt melancholy from the bottom of my heart, and I missed more. Leaning alone in front of the window, the rain drips around me. I hope that the night rain will keep falling. I am willing to listen silently and listen to the desire for love. It is ordinary and pure, as if the rain is closely connected, kiss me, in front of the window of life, I looked at a curtain of deep dreams, which became blue in the drizzle. Tender feelings are like smoke, raindrops are emitted on the delicate lawn, like the green carpet that has just been cleaned. It is fresh, refreshing, comfortable, and cozy to surround the mood and mind. Spring Rain, in the spring, will pull deep feeling, my eyes, chasing every raindrop splash, as lovely petals instantly beautiful, then, will melt into a trickle, lingering intertwined, A spray splashed, which was the smile of countless raindrops. Spring rain endows people with beauty and injects enthusiasm for writing. Facing life, I don’t like to make comments on people and things. That is not my hobby, and so is being a private person, although there is a big thing that has nothing to do with it, it means hanging high. Everything is straightforward and clear, which also makes me quiet a lot. There are always some memories connected with myself when writing and writing in the pen. Although those real, expected, sad, regretful and happy ones are not decorated with flowery words, but it is a true portrayal of my life. I like Su Shi’s feeling of being peaceful in the rain and smoke, and I respect the calmness of moving forward peacefully in the wind and rain. Every time I walk in the rain or look at the rain through the window, this sentence will unconsciously appear in my mind. I like the fine and soft beauty of rain, the wet and moist feeling brought by rain, the faint sentimental feeling in rain, and the thought of indulgence and letting it fly, therefore, the misty rain became the taste of the rain, the taste of romance, the taste of the lonely fragrance, the mood, with the poetic heart, like raindrops floating around. The drizzle is quiet and soft, lingering and drunk with smoke and rain, and the ink fragrance is filled with emotion the words created by poets about connecting with rain will make me intoxicated and like chewing their poetry to enjoy the rain, I like to miss someone in the rain, and I like to recall the heroic appearance of my soldier. I am more accustomed to making a cup of tea on rainy days, sitting silently and looking out in your direction. Perhaps, at this time, you are recalling the alley in the rain by the ancient handwriting, the umbrella you and I once owned, and the romantic warmth in the rain. In rainy days, it makes people feel very soft. When people reach middle age, they still miss some deep and shallow imprints in the rain, making paper from charming days to poetic rain as ink. Some shallow thoughts, written by the rain Silk, like the feeling of rain and soil, are fixed as permanent nostalgia. The rain is flying with rhythm and scattered chapters, leaves and sounds, hazy colors of life, singing my own rhythm. The drizzle touches my pen tip, and also enriches my mood. Like (prose editor: Shu Kuang) the snow in spring Spring elimination snow, multi-the yao nian, unspoken. Reading from afar, it is just above that snowfield. 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