Misty Jiangnan

The long hair is left for you, and it is spread out for you to tie. The thin white silk shirt is light, but it is still shy to move the morning mirror. The flower path under the curtain is deep and quiet. I lower my head and think about my old friend, deep in the path of fighting grass. Once a couple, now they are full of flowers. Back then, I was so long for lovesickness that I never heard of willows falling. Occasionally, I swallow when I hear the sound of the flute, and my tears stain my towel. The breeze blows on my skirt, and the cold dew grows on the jade steps. I hold my hair in my arms and sigh, I keep my long hair for you.