The cicadas are miserable. Facing Changting at night, the showers have begun to subside.
There is no trace of drinking in the Dumen tent, and the place of nostalgia and the orchid boat urge the hair.
Looking at each other with tears in their hands, they were speechless and choked.
Thousands of miles away, the mist spreads across the sky.
Sentiment has hurt parting since ancient times, and it is even more embarrassing to be left out in the Qingqing Festival!
Where will you wake up tonight? Willow bank, dawn wind and waning moon.
After so many years, it should be a time of good times and good times.
Even if there are thousands of styles, who can tell them?