轻轻地走过江南的小巷,留下一个伤心的背影。那掬水,那点墨,辨不清的是情,润不开的是你。不记得存在了多少年的石桥,青苔遍布,不记得流了多久的水,清澈见底。谁还记得那个踏着春雨而来的少年,骑着马,初遇打着小伞的伊人,回眸一笑,令多情公子半生思念。可惜,不是归人,只是过客。“嗒嗒”的马蹄声早已远去,只剩下那被锁在深深庭院中的涓涓心事。他走了,带走了钥匙。空荡的小巷里,琴声还在响,就如那桥下的水还在流,只是少了呜咽的箫声、滑动的双桨。漫天的飞絮,如雪花一般。抬起头,那是春与夏的定情信物。一池荷花,与伊人的容 Gently walked south of the alley, leaving a sad back. That swill, that point of ink, do not distinguish is the love, Run is not open is you. Do not remember the existence of many years of stone bridge, moss throughout, do not remember how long the water flow, crystal clear. Who still remember that juvenile marching from the spring, riding a horse, the first encounter of the Iraqis wearing umbrella, looking back smile, so sentimental son half-hearted. Unfortunately, not to return, just passing. The clattering hoofs long gone, leaving only the trickling locks in the deep courtyard. He left, took the key. Empty alley, the sound is still ringing, just as the water is still flowing under the bridge, but less sobbing Xiao sound, sliding sculls. Flying Fei Xu, such as snowflakes in general. Looked up, it is the spring and summer of the fixed token. A pool of lotus, with the Iraqi human capacity