Aesthetic Poems of Ancient People Burning Incense

The stove smells lonely and blue, and thousands of clouds fall. In the fire, a column of blue cigarettes rose alone and slowly spread into thousands of fine fog. Flying in the air, the ethereal wind returns. Smoke fluttered in the air as if it had been blown away by the wind. Things have happened, but the smog has not changed. Things in the world have changed from the past to the present, and the essence of cigarettes has not changed.