The fragrance of red lotus root lingers in the jade mat in autumn. I undress my clothes lightly and get on the orchid boat alone.
The plum rain has just passed, the fragrance of lotus remains, and the woman with the fragrance of cherry blossoms in the misty rain, whose heart has been disturbed?
Among the fragrant clothes and temples, whose love song dances in the sky makes someone spend a lot of money?
In the alleys of the West Lake, among the green waters and green mountains, who built this dream for whom?
In the hibiscus warm tent, whose heartache is whispering, and the clouds and rain are rolling?
Who, after losing their flesh and blood, murmured in despair: "Yes, I was born to be a prostitute!"
The time is cold, the lingering entanglements in this life, is it the joy of a person's floating world, or the quiet years of holding hands?
?
A certain nest →→:
long street