A poem with a falling flower and a silent shadow

Let me talk about the artistic conception of the whole poem first. If it can also be called "poetry", it was not written by emperor Qianlong, but mostly imitated "Qianlong style" "English" and "Rong" rhyme, but they are all mechanically copied and forcibly embedded. The first sentence and the third sentence are more poetic, which can make people associate and sing. However, the most crucial second sentence is puzzling. Instead of connecting the preceding with the following, it completely broke the rhythm and artistic conception of the whole poem. The reader suddenly lost his sense of direction. I don't know whether you want to express "the hatred of nostalgia" or "the beauty of hope" because of the connection with the third sentence. It seems that you have a beautiful vision for the future (waiting for flowers to bloom), but look again, it is a sad cry, and I really don't know what to say.

Besides, the author clearly wants to use the same words to emphasize his inner feelings, but at first glance he knows that he is making up words. The word "Meng Ying" is really puzzling. Can it be understood as "novel dream"? It is more appropriate to say "dream shadow" What's more, I said "one poem a day" earlier, how painstakingly and lovesick I was, and how did the second sentence knock myself over at once and become "unintentional"? The last sentence and the third sentence repeat the word "flowers bloom", which is suspected of procrastination and overlap. In the end, I even said "flowers are beyond capacity". No matter whether flowers bloom or fall, "capacity" must exist. Otherwise, how can we describe beauty as "closing the moon and feeling ashamed of flowers"? Wouldn't it be great to change it to "silent flowers" but even if it is changed to "silent flowers", it seems to have nothing to do with the whole poem (because the third sentence says that when flowers bloom, they are ecstatic, and the fourth sentence becomes silent, which is really speechless).

These four sentences are completely moaning, and they are finally put together, just like four irrelevant passers-by, half way to the sky, half way to each other. Might as well set it as a reluctant memory, a moving sigh, such an artistic conception, changed to:

A poem a day is full of lovesickness,

The old shadow lingers in the dream.

When the flowers bloom,

Fall in love and dance with the autumn wind.