Perhaps, being alone in the rain that day was the most wonderful enjoyment. Holding an umbrella, holding up a rainless sky, letting the small umbrella cover reject the gaze around you, perhaps, whether it is familiar or unfamiliar. The world in the rain has become simpler, withou

Maybe, being alone in the rain that day is the most wonderful enjoyment. Holding an umbrella, holding up a rainless sky, letting the small umbrella cover reject the gaze around you, perhaps, whether it is familiar or unfamiliar. The world in the rain has become simpler, without the troubles and controversy of the world, without the hustle and bustle of the world, everything is as clear as rain, and bright as the heart. I am under the umbrella, and rain outside the umbrella. Under the umbrella, I let my thoughts go freely, and the rain outside the umbrella sang softly on my umbrella cover. I can’t recite all the good lines of Tang poetry and Song lyrics, and I can’t write all the glorious chapters of ancient style modern rhyme. The cracked heart is moist in the rain, and the dusty eyes are strolling in the rain and clear...

However, the dreams in the rain are always wet at dusk, and the world of the heart is wet and cool, and the wet melancholy. Instead, in my dream, I walk in that long and lonely rainy alley, through the past life, through this life, through the desire for life, but my tired eyes cannot find the gaze that I have been searching for for thousands of years. And the color of lilac disappears in wandering, the fragrance of lilac disappears one by one in the vicissitudes of life, only the sorrow of lilac grows wildly in the rain, growing into lush sorrows of all seasons, and all my worries are dyed with purple water flowing...

So, listening to poetry in the rain is undoubtedly a feast for the soul. Watch the sparse and dense raindrops floating in front of you, and listen to the swaying charm of the poem jingling in the rain, allowing deep and shallow thoughts to fly one by one in the poem. However, I also listen to the drizzle and the wind is like the cold morning, the light smoke and sparse willows are charming the brightness of the clear beach, the rain in spring clears and dust breaks, the freshness of the drizzle when the swallows return, the drizzle is fresh in the drizzle when the drizzle is gone, and there is no wind, rain or sunny. I also listen to you that there is no return date, and the night rain in Bashan rises and the endless love of the autumn pond.

But, maybe it's true, listen to the flying flowers light like dreams, the boundless rain like the quietness of sorrow, maybe listen to the independence of fallen flowers, the micro☔️ Swift The loneliness of flying together, listen to the mountains and rivers, the thoughts of falling flowers are far away, the falling flowers are wind and rain are even more sad about the sorrow of spring, listen to the wind and rain, listen to the infatuation of people like the wind entering the river clouds, the love is like the rain remaining in the ground, but also listen to the waning moon in front of the building, the grass is already in the evening, listen to the 5th clock of the remaining dream, the woolly rain in the bottom of the flowers, the sadness of the three month rain The sadness, listening to wutong and drizzle, and the love at dusk, the desolation of every bit...

instead, the swelling thoughts bring a long and soothing poem, drunk with the passionate drizzle, the passionate rain sound, chanting the relaxed quick-paced , singing the old green mountains of the earth, softening the green water of the big and big rivers, and singing the bright moon in the center of the rain curtain, like raindrops...