Poems describing wrinkles and white hair of the elderly

Sigh with white hair, Wang Wei, how long I am. The day in the temple has turned white. Pitch between heaven and earth. When can I be a guest? Disappointed with mountains and clouds. Day and night are empty. What matters is when people. The East City is strange to the South. White hair makes it easy for white hair to know the season, which is dark to me. Today, in the sun, comb off a few stems. My family doesn't like it, so I sympathize with you I don't know what's wrong with my cloud. Ordinary people are 30 years old, strong outside and weak inside. But thinking about sleeping and eating is reduced by 20 hours. Besides, I'm forty years old and I'm in poor shape. The bookworm lost his eyes and the wine made him sick. Dear, the days are falling, those who are still leaving. For a long time, nothing will happen. It's too late. From the world to the old age, three diseases appeared one after another. There is no cure in this world except the idea of lifelessness. Under the cherry blossoms, white hair grows easily everywhere, and it will decline with age. Red cherry blossoms are full of sunshine and have half a head of white hair. He who leans against a tree is silent for a long time and climbs late. The breeze sighs and the snow is like silk. White hair is easy to fall with snow, and frost hair hangs on the temples. Add the old smell and replace the old container. Although it is as long as paint, it is always a flawless silk. I hate being in the mirror when my head is half black and half white.