Congratulations to the Bridegroom and Farewell Memories

On a stormy night in the Double Ninth Festival, the white-haired poet climbed a hundred feet tall building alone. Looking at the vast autumn colors of China, I recall the heroic passion of writing in my youth, but now I am only filled with desolation. He raised his glass and drank wildly at the yellow flowers, laughing at the fact that everyone kept repeating the anecdote about the broken hat every year. In my drunken eyes, I suddenly saw swans flying south and the sun setting in the west. It seemed as if all my life's ambitions had disappeared with the wind and rain at dusk.