But Afraid to Climb the Stairs

Remember Yuguan, walking in the snow is a clear journey, the cold air is crisp and the mink fur is crisp. Next to the ancient road in the dry forest, the long river drinks the horses, which has a long meaning. The short dream is still outside the river, and the old tears are shed in Xizhou. Every word has no title, and all the fallen leaves are sad. Carrying Baiyun back, I asked who left Chupei behind to make shadows in Zhongzhou? The reed flowers are broken and sent far away, and they are all scattered in autumn. To the ordinary, wild bridge and flowing water, waiting to be invited, it is not the old sand gull. Feeling empty, there is a place with the setting sun, but I am afraid to climb the stairs.