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's tent. Fang is nostalgic, and the orchid boat destroys his hair.
Holding hands and looking into tearful eyes, they were speechless and choked.
The thought goes away, thousands of miles of smoke waves, the dusk is heavy and the sky is vast.
Since ancient times, sentimental feelings have hurt parting, and even more embarrassing and neglected Qingqiu Festival.
Where did you wake up tonight?
Willow bank, dawn wind and waning moon.
After all these years, it should be a good time, but the good scenery is in vain.
Even if there are thousands of customs, who can tell them?
Conception: