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Tibetan, is to understand the deepest compassion

A copy of the time, write a tie the old words, between the lines, the breeze with the breeze of the moon scene, with the quiet Huang Lei Ju situation, read in the eyes, is a story, read in the past, is a heart sound , Read in the years, is a forest Jing Hao.
Red is long, blowing endless sadness most likely to fans, turning chapter of the most vulnerable to heartbroken, high clear sky, Jimuyuantiao, who Xiang Yi in the river floor. Who, alone guarding the window children, dipped in surplus sleeve of the subtle fragrance, the research of the Indus twilight drizzle, falling thin than the yellow text, saying that still? Who is the autumn wind tragic fan, to three of the plum blossom, in the heartbroken voice in the memory of his life? Who, because of the know, Phi dressed in compassion, because of the good, from the dust in the open a flower, but also from the flowers in a lifetime of loneliness?
Far away, those vine-like growth of sadness, those near-heartbreak of the view. But time, quietly left behind a statue of the statue of the back, in every line dejected poem, pouring all the way to open fragrance, built on a dike scenery. The scenery is carefully brewed a pot of wine, need to be a suitable place to open at the right time, will mellow full. Yes, for the rhythm of the four seasons handed down, a person is often used to the opening season of joy, bloom spring, snow search for plum, accustomed to a gradually getting better and melodious and prosperous, moonlight Hawthorn, late According to Maple, and the most can not be overlooked is often the one intoxicated silence, a blank, or even just a rest rest in silence, a light music sound curl, because they are not only in attracting, but also in the Spun deeply, that deeply gurgling stream that heart, that deeply hidden in the depths of the years of a vivid picture.