What are the sad poems?

Who pales my waiting, satirizes me for standing in a corner of the world to watch the sunrise and sunset, which is the most humble term in the world. We can see the prosperity, but we can't touch the memories of autumn flowers. We can only laugh and get drunk, and we can't see much lingering. Acacia is the saddest thing in the world. Whose old scars and blood-stained paintings have turned into a little cinnabar on their brow. Worth covering the whole world. On rainy days, the lake leaks around. Thin beauty, thousands of miles away. Acacia tears, a line of leisure who will solve; Ruthless sword, it is difficult to judge right and wrong; Pay the running water, and don't plan to spend it with people and butterflies. Who is laughing in the world of mortals?