淇水汤汤,无情地打湿了我的裙角,流逝在春草蔓叶之间。桑叶润泽,却不合时宜地泛起那抹跃动的令人遐想的绿。而你的那句“执子之手,与子偕老”的誓言被时光的车辙辗成无调的歌谣,风化成凄楚的绝唱。寻寻觅觅,在记忆的花冢,小心翼翼地将镌刻着你的爱恋与绝情的记忆残片捡起,拼凑,那俊朗的轮廓又渐渐清晰……初见,你是人间四月天。清晨,薄光熹微,踏着花露遍洒的小径,我来到河边,润洗头发。发丝在水中漂荡,弥漫着水草好闻的 Qi water soup, mercilessly wet my skirt, the passage of time in the spring grass between the leaves. Mulberry moist, but out of date impromptu enchanting green reverie. And your phrase “hold your hand, old age together,” the oath by the rut of time rolling into a tuneless ballad, weathering into a sad solitude. Looking for, in the memory of the flower mound, carefully engraved with your love and passion of the memory fragments picked up, patchwork, that handsome outline and gradually clear ... At first sight, you are human April day. In the early morning, the light is dim, marching through the sprinkling of trails, I came to the river, rinse the hair. Hair drift in the water, filled with water, good news