Ask how much sorrow you can have, just like a river flowing eastward.
The wind has stopped the dust, the fragrant flowers have blossomed, and I am tired of combing my hair at night. Things are people, not everything, and tears flow first.
There is nothing to do, flowers bloom and fall, and it seems familiar that Yan returns. Wandering alone in the small garden, fragrant path.
Since ancient times, feelings have hurt and left, and the autumn season is even more worthy of being left out! Who knows where I am when I am awake tonight? Fear is just the edge, facing the sad morning wind and the setting sun of the waning moon.