After the rain in the south of the Yangtze River,
The wind blows into the strings, rumpling a pond of lotus flowers with thoughts.
Can't tell, swaying at the moment,
It is the lamplight of the mountain temple leaning against the sleep of sandalwood smoke,
It is still a poem that is dizzy with water mist on the poet's shoulder.
They say it's hard to write about lovesickness.
Between the words and sentences,
The moonlight broke off three thousand pear blossoms and snow,
And I only take one piece, like a dead leaf butterfly with broken wings,
The signature is written on Wuyachun when you look up.
Intention: Study hard