A poem about meeting a beautiful woman at night

Blue sky, yellow leaves, autumn colors, cold smoke, green waves. The mountain reflects the setting sun and the sky meets the water, and the grass is ruthless, even outside the setting sun. Dark homesickness, chasing travel, every night unless, good dreams make people sleep. The bright moon tower is lonely, and the wine turns into sorrow and tears.

Leaning against the dangerous building, the wind is fine, looking forward to spring sorrow, and the sky is dark. In the afterglow of grass and smoke, no one can rely on the meaning of silence.

I plan to get drunk on the map of madness and sing songs for wine, which is strong and tasteless. I don't regret that my belt is getting wider and wider, which makes people haggard for Iraq.