As I wish, I pity you and have to ask for it.
Fragrance is an ear, wax is a tear, like the hearts of two people.
The mountain pillow is tired, the brocade is cold, and the sleep is more disabled.
Wicker is long, spring rain is fine, and flowers leak.
Startled the geese, rose from the city, and drew a golden partridge.
The fragrance is thin, and it comes through the curtain, and it is sad to thank the pavilion.
With red candles on your back and embroidered curtains hanging down, you have a long dream and you don't know it.