The fog locks the clear autumn, the clouds open and the moon is cold, and the small building listens to the wind in the middle of the night.
Leaning against the window and sparse shadows, the fragrance comes from time to time.
The redness and greenness all over the ground are disappearing, and it is worth sighing that jade dew is rare to see.
No one has given it, and the remaining flowers are scattered,
The broken tears cover the green lamp.
Passionate. Looking for a good dream, no trace of autumn water, no evidence of where to wake up.
There are so many melancholy, and the tears are swallowed silently.
Who cares about sentimentality? The frown is clustered and the sadness is difficult to calm down.
I can't sleep, I miss and hate you so much,
Hun is better than Guangbing.