The cicadas are chilling, it's late in the pavilion, and the showers are beginning to stop. There is no trace of drinking in the capital tent, and the orchid boat urges you to stay in the place of nostalgia.
Holding hands and looking into tearful eyes, there was no rain left to choke. Thoughts go by, thousands of miles of mist, the dusk is heavy and the sky is vast.
Since ancient times, sentimental feelings have been saddened by farewell, and even more embarrassing and neglected Qingqiu Festival! Where can I wake up tonight? Willow bank, dawn wind and waning moon.
After so many years, it should be a good time and good scenery. Even if there are thousands of customs, who can tell them?