Untitled Li Shangyin
It's hard to say goodbye when we meet,
The east wind is powerless and the flowers are withered.
Spring silkworms will not run out of silk until they die.
The wax torch turns to ashes and the tears begin to dry.
The mirror is dawning, but the clouds and hair are changing,
You should feel the cold moonlight when you sing at night.
There are not many roads to Pengshan.
The blue bird is attentive to visit.
(This article is purely my own thoughts and has nothing to do with poetry! I just like the title of the poem, don't take it seriously!)
Intention: hard to describe