On the poor third night of September, dew is like a real pearl and a real bow.
The curved hook moon hangs on the sparse buttonwood; In the dead of night, the water from the water clock has been dripping.
Who saw you alone?
Fuzzy and lonely.
At night, it suddenly becomes afraid, suddenly flies and comes back frequently, but no one always understands its infinite inner feelings.
It kept wandering among the cold branches, but refused to perch on any tree, and finally landed alone on the cold shoal.