Walking in the thin and cool autumn, a little sunshine is stiffly squeezed out from the thick clouds, and the surrounding clouds are bright and pale. Encouraged by the wind, the grass has begun to turn a little yellow, and the wind is blowing harder in the rendering of the grass.
I dare not touch this season in front of me, for fear of meeting your wound buried in the wind. So I had to be silent, as silent as autumn, until my thoughts were washed naked by autumn rain, and even Ye Er added a little blush. I had to hide you in a poem, but I didn't expect the poem to stay in autumn, and there was nowhere to find it. You are autumn, and autumn is you.