The falling rain dances lightly in the air, invisible and chilly like you. Facing the pavilion at night, the showers have begun to subside. There is no trace of drinking in the tent of the capital, and the place of nostalgia is the orchid boat. Holding hands and looking into tearful eyes, they were speechless and choked. Thoughts go by, thousands of miles of mist, the dusk is heavy and the sky is vast. Since ancient times, sentimental feelings have been hurt by parting, and even more embarrassing and neglected Qingqiu Festival! Where did you wake up tonight? On the bank of willows, the dawn wind wanes and the moon falls. After so many years, it should be a good time and good scenery. Even if there are thousands of customs, who can tell them? (Written on a whim, I don't exclude the possibility of stepping on the watermelon rind, haha)