【Jinfeng】 Herbal Legend

Li Yunfei

When I came back from the valley, when I wrote the name of Bailiang, I was just a hundred miles away from you. The heavy peach blossom apricot pear flower apple flowers, Mingli secretly surrounded me on the hillside of spring. The colorful water was not leaked, and the fragrant ripples ripped the sun into a lake in spring. The shy leaves were posted on the ground, as if a childish lips were talking to himself, but he was angry, and said the whispering word of mouth was sung by the mountain breeze. On the cursive prescription of folk collection, Baili Xiang's milk name is still so fresh: ground pepper.

The front grass I met in my hometown is already a folk clothing, a spikes, like a heart, full of compassionate dew and insects, green at the door of the house, swaying on the field. At that time, a grass that was called 一 passed through the fence, and grew into a sloppy landscape in our home. At that time, maybe it was not a blind herbal medicine. Although it was muddy and from the grassroots level, he could meet innocent self around, but no one would write it in the prescription written by writing brushes, and binded into the style of poem.

As a grass full of cultural juice, it is obviously insufficient and lacks suffering. Deep in the heart of loneliness, it still flashes green poetic. After thousands of miles of barren rivers and lakes, only a row of green footprints left, in front of the legendary carriage, it was free. After walking through many dynasties, he was unwilling to survive the world, and he sneaked in the grass outline, stealth cultivation, and associated with Shuxiang, blooming the shape of the past and present life into the shape of a lotus.

When I was a kind of dish, I was wearing a youthful green shirt, living in the crops, blooming in the rain, and endless bitter milk, making my barren childhood forever. When I grew into a grass, I knew the glory of the years. I tightened the humble body to the ground. A small umbrella was the only wealth left to the future generations, wandering in the soil. When it is a blind medicine, the temperament has approached the cold, the poverty aliens, the fire and fire are torment, and the world can use his own blood to ask how deep the pain of others is. As a firewood, the snow in winter was scraped. The fate of the blue road in the road, and when the wind was unwilling to float, burned himself into a strong smoke of a village.

The layers of leaves of dandelion, like a thin finger, quietly unfolded in the moonlight, holding a drop of trembling dew, as if there was a lantern, illuminating the footprints of the soil, followed by a shallow sound Worming, stroking my mind. The flowers blooming in life are a heavy sigh of gold. My life is humble and compassionate. It is more like my fate relatives. The wind blows. No matter how far their poor children are flying, their dreams will always take root. Essence

The spring breeze in the wilderness was mighty, and the smoke was filled. A dandelion opened a touch of thoughts, the endless affection, low, was green alone in the middle of the crops, and when it was hidden, it involved the nostalgia of Qingqing.

Hermori has no green leaves wrapped in crystal grains, only a nostalgic, nostalgic, cricket, and mother -in -law, dark branches and leaves. The tears of the corner of its eyes. This kind of grass is suitable for nostalgia. When the wind blows, it looks like a soul, or returns like a soul. The broken sun is left to the ground, full of strong herbal medicine.

In the long river of history, who can twist the incense with wormwood, ignite, and moxibustion the pain of May.

Along the way, the lemon strips are always encountered. What seduce people is not the sharp little thorns that are hidden between branches and leaves, but those flowers that are bright in the sun, small, delicate, stunned, glamorous, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer, in summer, in the summer of summer Under the wind, golden yellow has repeatedly reduced his honorable life. On the side of the road, standing with the tree, but unintentionally climbing the high branches in the wind. After the heavy rain, I was close to those small grass, firmly grasping the soil, and more tenderness erupted on the branches of the cattle and sheep. Bud, stubborn growth, life is booming.

On the way home, there will always be a collapsed cliff wall, and a lemon strip hangs there. Its roots seem to have penetrated into the bones of the earth. Calmly, in the desperate state, a sturdy singing, exquisite color, made the fragrance of one grain of fragrance, covered with golden armor.

In the morning of June, the drizzle flew, and the beams were blooming everywhere. The small flowers, like a small purple wine glass raised by the sky, such as porcelain placed on the silk, exquisite and noble, falling into it, falling into it. Drops of droplets were glycol with fragrance. Those bee butterflies took off from the flowers, all of them were drunk, and I couldn't fly my attention for a long time. The dew from the wine glass rolled into the soil, the entire hillside was also intoxicated, and the skin tone of the big yellow and green was blown by the wind and the whole village.

The camel fluffy on the ground kept moving. In the dense weeds, the camel is the bottom life. Its branches and leaves are single, curved, and crawling silently. Fate seems to be full of bitterness, but it does not sorrow, does not dump with the wind, and show off it with Gao Zhi. In the desert made of drought, other plants and trees have long witnes. Only the camel puff hugs a green, the roots are walking deep into the depths, and the branches and leaves spread on the ground. Green shade of one inch.

As a weed, there are too many loneliness in the camel. Unconsciously, no one knows how it is the same as the sapphire and leaves like the jasper. Slowly growing, winning longer spring and autumn, on the loess accumulated in time, concentrate on painting, draw a loom, or unintentional ripples. No one doubts that there is a low rainbow in their hearts. Small robbery in the fate of insects. The camel also blooms, as if embellished with a monotonous life, the rustic flowers in the soil are not amazing, like drying their old flower cloth shirts in the sun, this turbid color without any desire, and a snake from far away from far away The near -appearance appearance is confusing. The thick roots and small branches and leaves are not commensurate, and they are wrapped in layers of dark brown skin, such as rusty layers, with cultural relics vicissitudes. Living into a mummy, it makes people exclaim: How many years do you need to exhaust?

The wild chrysanthemums that have accumulated the loess have accumulated a year of passion and did not hold back. All the vast squares built along the rainwater in time were sprayed out. Essence As if overnight, there was a curtain of years on the stage of the world. A cluster of wild chrysanthemums suddenly abandoned shyness and turned from the depths of the seasons. Dry on the small petals.

The butterfly dare not easily stuck to the fluffy flower. Only the glittering dew can be guarded. When the mountain wind blows, you also know that you want to light your hands and feet. There were tears on each branch and leaves. Her purple emotions became more and more depressed. They squeezed around in the sun, full of hillside, as if the fragile figure had nowhere to hide, whoever looked at it would cause endless acacia.

At night, I did n’t finish the whispering of the stars, avoided the eyes of the world, and said to the bugs in the shadow, over and over again, 窸窸, like weeping like a complaint. The fog is like a yarn tent, and the sigh is wet. The yellow flower stamens have a heart that faces the sun pilgrimage. I can only wait and see, and dare not pick it easily. The purple flowing from the slope is far away, so that it will bloom deep and lonely alone. The final frightening year, wild chrysanthemums were so tragic.

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