The second day of Qingming _ lyric prose
Whenever it rains in Tomb-Sweeping Day, the spring breeze blows the fallen leaves of the old year, making a rustling sound. When the leaves fall, the city is full of the wind of relatives leaving. Walking into the depths of the bushes, the spring breeze and silk rain hidden in the season render a lot of sadness. I am not a person who is sad for spring and autumn, but in such a solar term of worship, I still have some sighs.
Time waits for no one, just like this season. When I crossed the palm of my hand, when I looked back, I was covered with fallen leaves like butterflies. The seasons change, new leaves and old trees are everywhere, so that the written words are separated from the promises made, and the yellowed memories can no longer piece together a perfect yesterday. Some opportunities in life come either too early or too late. I always want to reach for something, but I pick it up and throw it away.
Season after season, a heart is not closed by years. There are fading echoes in the wind, but I can't finish singing the gardenia. Seasons always take us farther and farther, and time always stretches invisibly. Once the picture was beautiful and moving, it would be frozen between turns.
How much dust is left on the threshold of time? If you write an old word, can it be covered with sadness? When I was a child, I went to the grave with my uncle. Many years have passed, and now my life expectancy is different because of different routes. My relatives are getting farther and farther away, and spring flowers cover my shoulders again. The story of time, wandering on the eternal road of years, across the Qian Shan, only remembers that flowers are full of clothes.
Life is so high, how many people are willing to go to great lengths to remember it? No matter how time flies, I still miss and cherish it in my own way, because you are my relative.
This year is different from the past, spring is blooming, although there is warm sun, it can't resist a little coolness. Walking on the road, the wind rolled up the leaves and turned around. From time to time, the cold wind came and I couldn't help but wrap my arms and clothes. The journey of the world, learn to give up early. When relatives leave, there will always be a clear moment, perhaps tired or helpless. I just want to clear my memory. Those wandering thoughts, let it drift aimlessly, do not comb, and do not want to force it to forget. Accustomed to silence, I don't understand the darkness of night during the day. No one can understand my sadness.
Thin, cold, lost relatives are the opportunity to bloom. They can indulge in the depths of flowers and retire in the wind and smoke, but as long as there is warmth in their hearts, their souls will not wander.