Time passes and the years pass.
saves the next frame, long in my heart.
Take your time and relax, and write poems as you please.
A cup of tea, the fragrance of orchid makes you dream.
——Preface
Changing wind, floating clouds, clear dreams, and return to the heart.
The poetry is casual, save the next frame, and the true beauty of time will be revealed.
Just the splendor of summer flowers, one.
How much life is full of clouds and smoke, and a piece of paper is wasted.
Read the coldness of the world and make a promise.
Time is free and easy, the world is crowded, and the journey is bumpy.
The fireworks that cross the world are one lineage.
The tranquility enters the glaze, the glaze flickers like a firefly.
Like the droplets of dust, I am one.
How much happiness is there, the true self, just laugh it off.

The heart of tea, the heart of poetry,
All kinds of styles are not up to me.
In this earthly world, life is floating,
is so joyful that I can’t stop talking.
Two ounces of tea, one ounce of breeze,
Missing you again and again, grinding the time together.
Preserve the happiness and thoughts,
time will ferment again, and the memory will be sealed together.
The left hand fingers the moon, the right hand raises the cup,
the tea is cooled and then warmed, and the fleeting years are held tightly together.
Half sober, half drunk,
the tea is replenished again, mottled with the years.

The full moon in midsummer is full, and a scroll of poems and paintings are falling.
The lingering ink style is dyed with the fragrance of tea.
The fragrance of tea is lingering, and the poems follow the mood.
The message in the dream, a stroke of sorrow condenses, and the heart returns to the Zen state.
A jade plate hangs in the night sky, leaving beautiful poems and poems.
The gentle breeze adds to the beauty.
The floating clouds are light, and the mundane world follows one's heart.
The wind blows away the ashes, sweeping them away, and the Zen feeling is deep.

If a roll of time is cool,
The fragrance condenses into a cloud,
The tenderness falling on the slender fingers, lingering in a pool of ink,
Can it be,
Cut out a period of fleeting fragrance,
The time that comforts the rest of your life,
The things saved Is it the tenderness of the entire years,
, or is it the loneliness in the palm of your hand?

Han Bing Ningxue: A woman who appreciates tea. The fingertips are lightly dyed with the fragrance of tea, and the fireworks in the world are freehand. A dust-free heart of tea brews the joy of time. The heart of tea is like this, and the fragrance comes from falling words. If there is fate, meeting is poetry.
pictures are taken from the Internet, special thanks!
