ancient style poetry
Zuihua Yin
醉花阴
Cao Zu
Cold Spring street light is too early September.
Lights are doorways.
Lotus people on the next step, a thin, Hong Luo, steep narrow Chunshan small.
May the wind moth delicate pale makeup.
With the road to listen to laughter.
Unlimited skinned children, though different, the general good.
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