In the early morning, the chrysanthemums outside the railing were shrouded in a layer of miserable smoke. The dew on the orchids seemed to be the tears of weeping. There were wisps of light cold between the curtains, and the swallows flew away in pairs. The bright moon does not understand the pain of parting, and the slanting silver glow penetrates the red door until dawn.
Last night, the west wind was fierce and the green trees withered. I climbed up to the high building alone and looked at the end of the world. I want to send a letter to my sweetheart, but there are endless mountains and endless clear water, and I don't know where my sweetheart is...