A song of autumn sorrow, a few desolate stares

when you stand by the window, you will always remember the setting sun, which is desolate and beautiful. However, the moment when the eyebrows are lowered and the eyes are raised, it is already twilight. Once upon a time, the pool was broken, the sky was flying red, the crescent moon was hooked, the rain hit the banana, and the afterglow of the west wind … When the wind started, I lingered and counted. Heart, there will be how much sigh, how much lingering, how much loneliness, how much return, nothing to do with romantic. How much leisure? In the end, however, a stream of tobacco, the wind in the city, plum yellow rain. At that time, the Iraqis who stood by the window, their clothes fluttering, whispering in a low voice, and their cold eyes were filled with infinite grief. Bleak streets, the wind, leaves also rise and fall with it, turning into an autumn mourning, Iraqi people staring, adding a little sadness. Staring, like the beginning of the years. Crossing the Millennium, I can't see through the desolation of that life. The wind whizzed by, singing ancient songs, stopping to listen, it was so bleak. I didn't stop for anyone, just as I didn't expect it. When I suddenly looked back, that person was smiling like a flower in the dim light. But where can I find the grief in my eyes? The origin will also be destroyed, and the worldly glitz will be difficult to retire after all. Flowers bloom and fall, leaning on the window bar alone, staring at the way back. Two lines of clear tears fell into the palm of your hand, but it was freezing cold. "who is more fragrant in the breeze, drunk and dry?" Turn around, and then sit down, knowing that the fate with you is only the figure that left in a hurry. The ending has already arrived before me, dormant in this chilly autumn rain. Waiting may be a lonely life, even so, I don't want to look back. The face waiting in the season, like a lotus flower, can not be found after all. October Sky is sad and sad, holding an oil-paper umbrella, walking in the street with falling leaves. Remember what you said when you didn't say [wait for me, in a word, I was right. From then on, heavy shackles were carried in every dream of mine. Knowing that there is no hope, but clinging to the only persistence, thinking that you can wait for the most beautiful scenery after all. Flowers bloom and fade, autumn goes to winter, and all the causes and effects in the world cycle, just like the change of this season and the change of years. Looking back suddenly, the joy I once had passed away. Time flies like water, and the past is long. Tonight, play an ancient rhyme, sing a farewell song, and remember the past love when the clouds are flying. Thoughts follow yesterday's poem, singing a poem, winding between heaven and earth. The thin moon, which is bent, records the lovesickness of the years and releases a bright night. The sadness of idle worries has also turned into melancholy and affectionate poems, which are integrated into the past feelings. Broken in the wind, the dust has drifted silently for thousands of years. After the storm, when the fragrance runs out, I just want to add a wisp of fragrance to you by fate, so that the fragrance in my dream will be full of sleeves. In a trance, the steps are a little staggered. Who is going to the distance to find the traces you have passed? Just wait for me for your sentence, and I will spend my life waiting. Staring has already become a habit. Staring at the sky, just waiting for your geese to return, the brocade book falls on the windowsill, watching alone with a few hopes. Perhaps, autumn can only be interpreted as desolation, but watching has become a gesture, conveying the eternal acacia.