Drizzle such as crisp, smoke light cage, a bay ting Nagisa hidden in the haze. Apricot forest on the shore, pink and white petals congealed with cold dew, fluttering in the chilly spring.
In the distance, a beautiful woman stands alone. She dressed in white brocade, waist graceful, hair such as a waterfall, only with a sheep fat hosta pine pull on. The West Lake silk umbrella painted with ink bamboo in the hand, slightly inclined, seems to undertake this boundless melancholy.
The wind blew, apricot flowers rustled down, sprinkled on her shoulders. She raised her eyes and looked at the misty mountains and rivers in the distance. Her red lips were gently raised and she murmured. Was she reproaching her beloved whose return was uncertain or sighing at her dreamlike youth? Drizzle wet her skirt, but did not disturb her a cent, she stood so quietly in the misty rain, become this cold spring a charming and heartbreaking scenery, as if from the poetry and painting, with a thousand years of feelings and grievances, a long time.,plns,cher
