If you ask about the fleeting time, plum blossoms are fragrant in the snow. What does this sentence mean? I hope you will take an active part. thank you

1 The golden fan of "Green Willow Color" is thin, drunk and singing. Whose catkins steal to peek at people, the cool wind blows the trees and sobs, and the moonlight waves poetry, the night is silent, and the eyes are not drunk. How can you sleep peacefully? There are clouds in the sky on the old branches, green grass in the high and low fields, rabbits running after foxes, and Shan Ye is lonely and empty, half folded in ruins and weeds, but it is difficult to find the missing address, and it is always yellow dust that covers up the warmth. Thousands of years have passed since the ancient times. After the death of the Eastern Jin Dynasty, sages and ancient styles disappeared. The yellow flowers in the water are not blooming, and they are getting old. The years are like magic, birds are singing, the boat is rowed into the lotus, the clouds are far away, and the three of them are in tears. For people like lotus, it is short-lived and unforgettable. The broken bridge provides shelter from the rain and smoke, the fence by the stream is shallow, the forest path is deep, dozens of plum trees, and several bamboo forests, where cranes fly and the piano moves, and the water flows in Sha Ou. The lonely Xuemo Hall is full of crows. Everyone became a flower seller. The moonlight is thin and exquisite, the sky is wide and the stars are as low as mirrors, the iron locks the dragons, the nights are like locks, and the mountains are like dragons. Cold, fragrant catkins are light with the wind, pear trees are like peanuts, melancholy sighs are hard to stop, thinking in my mind, moving in silence, moving in emptiness. How many things happened in front of me and behind me, the wild goose south and the wild goose north crowed a few times, the frost marks on their wings were dyed into those Chinese Pulsatilla, and the treetops were blown by the wind. Leng Yue, lonely mountain, burying the soul of flowers, who will meet again? The blue shirt has been covered with the dust of the next year, and I met an old friend in my dream. When I woke up, I suddenly heard the song "Yangguan", which sounded very sad and left my feeling. Who has seen plum blossom snow? The wine has dried up, the fog has dispersed, the mountain wind blows the cold on the temples, and a huge song shakes the clouds and clears the fog. Far away, the castle peak suddenly seems to be between a finger. Secretly woven into rippling moon waves, shawls around the shore. I don't need to cross the river. I am used to riding a paper crane as a fairy. I think of it, I think of it, and it means deep madness. He who laughs can't see through. Yellow burial golden mirror, my ambition fell into the gentle abyss, peach trees and peach fairies, I looked up and screamed at the peach blossom temple. It doesn't matter that he is romantic. A hundred smelting furnaces have been burned into iron in the liver and intestines, making a name for themselves, making a dream of butterflies with wealth, the fierce wind in Bo Xue, moxibustion in a cold cup, a lantern under a bamboo fence hut, a thin horse in the west wind carrying half a poem and half a wine, tired birds singing all over the world, and a willow flying in the warm spring, walking in a cold autumn wind. Every year, the front shadow of Wang Xietang has disappeared, and Wuyi Lane is committed to it. Cool, endless. Green water surrounds heavy mountains, and splendid mountains and rivers still exist. Foxes and rabbits walk through the vegetation. Qin Gong and Sui Garden, Han Tomb and Tang Que have all become the dust of history. The mountains and rivers flow by themselves, only one sky is broken and a west building is broken. Eagle flying grass is long, green across the sandbar road; Ao Shuang is orange-green, with heavy rain, and the surging waves are hidden in the watchtower. One leaf falls, and the autumn is broken, and the eyes are misty, and it is a little cold, and the branches are yellow, and the willow is defeated by the tip. Jiangnan, or rather, Chumei is yellow, and deep alleys are thicker than Liu Yin. The bamboo shadow is sideways, the lotus fragrance is full of sleeves, the teenager is old and drunk, and the painting is original. Who sings "Water Tone" with light sleeves? Ling Bo has never been to the Cross Pond, but after seeing it, the fragrance dies, and the fragrance dies. The pen topic is heartbroken, and the ambition is not in Lingyange, and the meaning of drunkenness is not in poetry madness. What is the geometry of leisure? It was dusk on Yichuan Tobacco's face. The wind in the city flew over the hillside, a curtain of rain floated by, and several sighs fell, but I only knew that the voice was me. 2 "Such Sorrow" remembers those sweet dreams and forgets them; Think of those old songs that have been sung and forget them; Thinking of those lofty ideals is gone forever; At the thought of the flowers withering before planting, I was so sad that I couldn't bear to mention them, and I couldn't bear to be silent, so I had to knock them out through the keyboard in my hand. With such sadness, I sigh lightly, chuckle lightly and commit suicide. I thought that as long as I live a plain life, I can let go of my happiness and troubles, but people's hearts are a mixture of complex emotions, and even if I try my best to control them, I will still get out of control. "I wave my sleeves without taking away a cloud." I think it would be nice if people's inner sadness could wave their sleeves like Xu Zhimo and shake them off. But inexplicable sadness, no matter how we wave, can't go away. As I grow older, I will inexplicably think of my youth. Innocent and carefree at that time. Only a strong desire to grow up. I wish I could have a pair of wings to fly to the wider sky. At that time, I always sang only happy songs. When I grow up, I can no longer find the happiness of my youth, but I am more confused about life. "I didn't know the taste of sadness when I was young, but I fell in love with the floor. I fell in love with the floor." Now I know what it's like to worry, and I want to talk about it, but I want to talk about it and say it's a cool autumn. Once upon a time, I had many sweet dreams, those ambitious dreams, those colorful and sweet dreams about love, those dreams that I thought I could succeed as long as I worked hard. At that time, I had hoped to have something different, but now, I know I have lost it, along with my dreams. How can you say that a person is desolate when he doesn't even have dreams? How can this kind of sadness be called "sadness"? In life, it is precisely because of these inexplicable sadness that it sleeps quietly in the depths of memory and will suddenly wake up one day, which is exciting.