Red hands, silver teeth, mountains full of autumn colors and maple eyes.
The yellow sand is diffuse, the ringing of the bell is cold, and my thoughts are hidden alone. The wind is cool on the sloping railing, and I can hide it.
The red gauze tent, the golden horn cup, the empty seats in the golden palace are all sleepless.
The painting is like yesterday, the person is no longer there, and I am afraid that recalling those years will burn my life in vain, causing pain and pain.
The east wind is bad, the people are weak, the fog is thick and the branches are heavy with ink.
The sky is not bright, the rain is hard to go away, the words are sweet and sweet, and I sleep in a locust tree, hate hate hate!
Intent: A great sweet story