The buried round to
Poet: Jiang Lie
Censor Zhang Han family, Jin Lvzhu floor. Age Miao far, a total fall of Luoyang Xie.
Luoyang Avenue side, the old way still remains. Dismount single heave a deep sigh, chaos of the city noise.
When people welcomed the green bead, poetry full of Valley Park. Buried golden wheel, the no Hing a word.
Integrity still avoid death, the status is not death. Miluo have turned the waves are too afraid of Qu Yuan.
I smell Pacific water, connected with the day. How a floor, and for nine spring.
Vancomycin but high step, I could Jing Yin. |
|
|